


The Color of Love

by Beulaugh



Series: wtFOCK/Shadowhunters Crossover AUs [2]
Category: SKAM (Netherlands), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Admiring from Afar, Brief Jens POV, Brief Robbe POV, Changed to Mature (M), Communication, Cuddling, Demon Fighting Violence, Eyeliner, Faerie!Sander, Fluff, Fluff fluffity Fluff, Glitter, Grumpy Jens, Jens is also a badass, Jens is channeling his inner Raphael Santiago, Lucas VDH is a badass, M/M, MAGIC HAIR, Malec, Malec Crossover, Malec show up in ch. 5, POV Sander Driesen, Robbe fights demons, Robbe is a flirt, Robbe is always a badass, Sander has a secret, Sander saves the f-ing day, Shadowhunter!Jens, Shadowhunter!Lucas, Shadowhunter!Robbe, Sharing a Bed, Sobbe - Freeform, Sobbe is so in love, VDS in ch. 6, VDS side plot, lots of talking, shadowhunters crossover, training together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 63,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26743978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beulaugh/pseuds/Beulaugh
Summary: Sander is half Fey, and Robbe is a Shadowhunter. This is the story of how they met and fell in love. There are weapons and demons, paintings and drawings, lots of cuddling and fluff, and communication. We love communication, and maybe some flirty and snarky banter.  Throw in a grumpy Jens and a badass Lucas VDH, and Robbe and Sander are off on an adventure that takes them from the Antwerp Shadow Market to the streets of Paris.Ch. 1 - The Painting, A meeting at the Shadow MarketCh. 2 - Getting to Know You, A Cuddle ClipCh. 3 - Training Day, Robbe and Jens Torture...errr, train...SanderCh. 4 - Jens sticks his foot in it and Sander panicsCh. 5 - Malec Visit and Sander learns more about his magicCh. 6 - Anniversary in Paris, Demons Demons Everywhere, and little VDS on the side
Relationships: Jens Stoffels/Lucas van der Heijden, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Series: wtFOCK/Shadowhunters Crossover AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944637
Comments: 45
Kudos: 120





	1. The Painting

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a continuation of my last wtFOCK/Shadowhunters Crossover fic, as Sander is Fey in this one; however, I'm putting all these fics in a series as a way of keeping them together. I may decide to turn this into a chaptered fic, though it would be a series of vignettes more than a cohesive story.
> 
> Violence: Descriptions of fighting demons. Nothing graphic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sander is having a normal Friday, selling his artwork at the Mundane market. Then two Shadowhunters appear, looking for a Faerie artist who sold a cruelly enchanted painting. The problem is that one of the Shadowhunters is the boy Sander has been crushing on for months, and he's afraid they'll find out his secret.

**The Color of Love**

It was a cool, crisp day in October. Sander stood at the front of his stall, organizing his artwork on display. Most of the paintings and drawings were of nature--flowers, trees, glades, creeks--but there were portraits, cityscapes, and just small captured moments mixed in as well. His art was a reflection of him. His Fey side longed for the natural and wide open spaces, but his human side loved the city and people watching. 

As he adjusted a painting of pixies dancing among lilies, a familiar voice called out to him, “Morning Sander! How’d you fair at the Shadow Market last night?”

Looking up, Sander smiled at Noor, a dark-haired Dryad and fellow artist. “Not bad. I sold two of my Mundane paintings and several of the ones that dance. I missed you last night. What happened?”

“There was a bit of a domestic squabble with some of the other Dryads in my glen, and I couldn’t get away. It’s like I have 15 roommates,” she sighed. “Well, best of luck today. I’ve got to get set up. We’ll catch up later.” Waggling her fingers goodbye, she confidently walked away toward a stall further in the market. 

Sander turned back to his display. It wasn’t quite right. Something was missing. His fingers itched to grab the painting hidden under the table, but he resisted the urge. _I can’t display that_ , he thought. _It’s not for sale anyway._ Instead, he pulled out a pencil drawing of a couple drinking coffee by a fountain and placed it in the center of the table. Taking one more look at the table, he nodded and walked around to the back, sitting in his camping chair and grabbing his sketchbook and pencils. It didn’t take long for him to get lost in a drawing of the woman selling books in the next stall.

Several hours, customers, and browsers later, Sander was starting to feel a deep fatigue. Fridays were always the worst because of the Shadow Market on Thursday nights. Straddling two worlds was exhausting, and if the Shadow Market weren’t so lucrative, he might skip it. Yet somehow he always sold just enough to feel like he should keep coming back. He liked the money; well, he needed the money, but it was really the fact that he loved seeing people truly appreciate his work. He painted and drew because his soul needed it like breathing, but it made him happy to know that his creations could bring joy to others. 

Catching the eye of the bookseller next door, Sander asked, “Would you watch my stall for a minute? I’m going to go grab a coffee.”

“Sure, love.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a grateful smile. He stretched his arms overhead and leaned left and right, the hem of his Bowie t-shirt lifting to reveal the skin underneath. 

Taking one more deep breath, Sander headed off down the aisle toward the cafe on the corner. As he fantasized about the caffeine, his eyes caught on a mess of wavy brown hair in the next aisle. Sander stopped abruptly. Panicking, he ducked and shifted over to the side of the soap stall, trying to get a better look at what he hoped wasn’t there. 

It was. Or really, he was. _His_ Shadowhunter. His shining Shadowhunter. The slight boy with the depthless eyes, wiry muscles, and disastrously messy brown hair. He was wearing traditional black gear, and Sander could see dark runes peeking out on his neck and wrists. For Sander, though, it was the eyes. His soul shone through his eyes. They were dark brown pools that seemed to see everything and understand the complexities of life. Sander could almost believe the owner of those eyes might be able to look past his Faerie blood and really see him. Almost. 

Once the shock wore off, Sander realized the boy was not alone. He was with a tall, dark-haired Shadowhunter of maybe a similar age, and they were talking. Moving a little closer around the side of the stall, he could hear bits of their conversation.

His Shadowhunter: “...why do we need to check here?”

Other boy: “...Fair Folk...Shadow Market...investigate.”

His Shadowhunter: “but why…here?”

Other boy: “many also sell...Mundane...”

_Investigate_ ? Thought Sander. _Investigate_ _what_? It clearly had to do with Faeries and the Shadow Market. Both of those things applied to him.

Slowly, moving around the mountain of soap and away from the Shadowhunters, he stood up and carefully made his way back to his stall. He was torn between the hope and anticipation of possibly meeting and talking to his Shadowhunter and absolute concern for whatever they might be investigating. He considered packing up his stall quickly, but then realized it would make him look guilty. So, he stayed, hoping and dreading that they might come to his stall.

He wasn’t tortured by anticipation for long. He saw them in less than five minutes. They were striding purposefully straight at his stall.

Sander stood, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, and nervously fluffed at his white hair. He tried to avoid looking directly at his Shadowhunter. Instead, he looked at his friend. While he could see in his peripheral vision that his Shadowhunter was smiling, his friend was not. No kindness emanated from the taller boy. He was all business. 

Drawing them to the side of his stall away from the bookseller, Sander tried to appear unconcerned. “Hello, Shadowhunters. Welcome to my stall. Are you here to browse my collection?”

“Are you Sander Drieson?” The tall one asked.

“Yes.”

“Were you at the Shadowmarket last night?”

“Yes,” Sander replied, trying not to sound nervous.

“Did you sell magical paintings to Mundanes last night?”

“Yes and no. I sold two paintings to Mundanes, but they were done with regular paint and lacked any enchantments. The magical paintings I sold last night were bought by a vampire and a warlock.”

“Do you have any enchanted paintings present today at this Mundane market?”

“No, I do not. I am here every Monday through Friday, and I always leave them at home,” Sander said as calmly as possible. He sneaked a glance at his Shadowhunter and caught him looking at him. The boy quickly looked away nervously. _Wait, nervously? Why would he be nervous?_

Shaking himself mentally, Sander looked back at the taller Shadowhunter and asked, “Do you mind telling me who you are and what the problem is? Why are you here at this Mundane market questioning a Faerie about Art?”

“I’m Robbe,” his boy chimed in quickly. “And this is Jens.” Jens scowled, but Robbe ignored him. “We’re sorry to bother you. Someone sold a cursed painting to a Mundane last night. The paint melted off the canvas while he was sleeping and formed a figure that then tried to kill him in his sleep. We think it was meant to be a cruel joke.”

“Yes,” replied Sander. “That does sound like the kind of joke many of my brethren would enjoy. I am so sorry for the Mundane. Is he all right?”

“Yes, he was able to run out of the house and get away, but we can’t allow anyone to threaten Mundanes in that way. So here we are. We’re questioning all the artists who sold at the Shadowmarket last night,” Robbe said kindly.

“I see. I guess that makes sense,” Sander responded, looking at Robbe. “As I said, I was there, but all my paintings are accounted for. I keep accurate and detailed records if you’d like to see them.”

“Sure--” started Robbe.

“Actually,” interrupted Jens, “we’re going to need to search your stall as well.”

“What?” demanded Sander loudly while Robbe simultaneously asked, “We are?”

“Yes, we are,” argued Jens. “We can’t just take his word for it. We have to make sure.”

“He’s a Faerie, Jens,” Robbe said, rolling his eyes. “They can’t lie.”

“Well,” interjected Sander, “this won’t help my case in your eyes, but I’m only half Fey. So…”

“Oh,” Robbe mouthed quietly. His eyes widened as he gazed at Sander. “What’s that like?” he asked thoughtfully. 

“Difficult,” Sander responded quickly. “It feels like I’m being pulled apart, and yet I don’t belong anywhere.” He stopped abruptly, dropping his eyes to the ground and shifting his feet, shocked at telling Robbe such a personal truth.

“That does sound challenging,” Robbe said kindly. “I--”

“Yeah, yeah,” interrupted Jens. “Let’s get on with it. There are at least four others here we have to talk to as well.”

“Right,” said Sander, blinking a few times. He’d already forgotten about Jens. “Sure. Have at it. I’ll just go sit over there, shall I?”

Robbe smiled at him, showing his dimples, and shrugged. They both turned to the table and started examining the paintings and drawings. After a few minutes, Robbe opened the ledger and inspected the sale records. 

Jens, however, started pulling out the boxes from under the table, and Sander stiffened. Jens couldn’t see _it_. It would be too embarrassing. Maybe he would miss the box it was laying on. Sander sat in his camping chair, seemingly relaxed, but he gripped the armrests with white knuckles. He closed his eyes and waited.

“What the--. Hey, Robbe, come look at this,” Jens called out.

Sander’s eyes flew open. The thing he’d been dreading had happened. Jens had found it. The painting of Robbe. Sander had painted him as a shining angel with expansive, white wings surrounded by a kaleidoscope of browns and oranges, but the face and body were unmistakably Robbe. Anyone who looked at it would know it was Robbe, and anyone who looked at it would know how Sander felt about Robbe. He’d painstakingly crafted every detail, and the expression in Robbe’s eyes and on his face was one of intense desire. 

Jens was guffawing, open mouthed, and pointing at the painting, but Sander paid no attention to his words or laughter. He stared intently at Robbe, gauging his reaction. 

Robbe just stared at the painting, lips slightly parted, eyes roaming from one detail to the next. It felt like an eternity before he turned and looked at Sander.

“You painted this?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sander responded shyly. 

“But when? How? Why? I don’t understand. We just met.”

Softly, he replied, “Robbe, I think the why is obvious.”

“Yeah, it is,” burst out Jens, elbowing Robbe in the ribs, but Robbe ignored him, gaze fixed on Sander.

“But--” he started.

“Robbe, just because you’ve never noticed me doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed you.” Robbe’s cheeks reddened at that, his brown eyes shooting up to meet Sander’s emerald ones. He stood a little taller and opened his mouth like he was going to say something but then looked over at Jens and remained silent. 

Trying to be as honest and upfront as possible so as to not scare him, Sander further explained, “It’s the way of things. I’m an artist. I like beautiful things, and I like to capture beautiful things in paint and pencil. You are beautiful; therefore, I would naturally want to paint you.”

“Oh,” Robbe replied quietly again. He looked dazed and a little contemplative. Sander pitied him. It was a lot to absorb all at once, and the whole thing really wasn’t fair to Robbe.

“Look Robbe, I’m sorry that you had to see that painting. I don’t regret making it, but I am sorry that you saw it and were confused or made to feel uncomfortable by it. That painting isn’t for sale. I just like to have it around, so I store it with my other paintings. This is actually the first time anyone other than me has seen it.”

Robbe was still looking confused, his mouth still making the “oh” shape. 

“Here,” Sander said, taking the painting away from Robbe. He hid it back under the table. “Now, Shadowhunters, do you need to search for any more dark magic, or are you ready to move on? Am I innocent?”

“Based on that painting, I’d say no,” joked Jens, “but I don’t detect anything demonic. You’re good in that regard. Thank you for your time. Ok, Robbe, let’s go.”

Sander smiled at Robbe. “It was nice to finally meet you Robbe. Good luck with your investigation.”

Robbe’s eyes flickered up to Sander’s and his lips trembled, but no sound came out. He nodded and let Jens pull him away into the crowded market.

The second they were out of sight, Sander collapsed to his knees, face in his hands, groaning. Why? How embarrassing? And how must Robbe feel? He must be mortified. Creeped out? Disgusted? Definitely creeped out at the very least and likely concerned that a Faerie was stalking him. Though, Sander admitted, he wasn’t exactly stalking him, just enjoying the opportunities he’d had to see him. 

Sander thought back to the first time he’d seen Robbe. He was people-watching near the Scheldt, and suddenly he saw an angel appear. Robbe was running full tilt. He burst out of the crowd, clearly glamoured, chasing what looked like a young girl. His hair shone in the sunlight, and his eyes blazed like fire, determination firmly etched into his features. The young girl reached the river’s edge and turned to face Robbe. Quickly, she transformed into a dark mass with long tentacles, six eyes, and a protruding mouth of razor sharp teeth. 

Still running, Robbe pulled out a seraph blade, yelled out, “Ramiel,” and leaped at the demon. He slashed and jabbed, cutting off tentacles and poking out several eyes. Stepping back, he reset his stance, and then leaping one more time, he landed atop the demon. He stabbed the seraph blade through the top of its head, and then pulling a knife out of his boot, he plunged it into the demon’s mouth. The combined thrusts were enough to send the demon back, and it dissolved into dust. 

Being about six feet up in the air, Robbe fell to the ground but missed the ledge and landed in the water with a splash. No one had noticed but Sander, and before he could take two steps to see if he was Ok, Robbe climbed out of the water. 

His hair was longer wet, clinging to his forehead and neck. He easily pulled himself over the ledge and sat on the concrete wall, rubbing the water out of his eyes and pushing his hair aside. He was breathing heavily, but his face lacked any recognition of what had just happened. He took a few more breaths, and after putting his blades away, he stood up and walked away. 

Sander couldn’t stop staring. The boy had single handedly dispatched a demon, fallen into a river, and walked away like nothing had happened. 

He kept thinking about how he looked rising from the water, like an angel ascending to the heavens, beautiful and yet a little terrifying. 

Sander was in love.

From that moment on, Sander looked for the Shadowhunter boy, hoping to catch sight of him around the city. He was rewarded on occasion, and over the course of several months, he started to think of him as _his_ Shadowhunter.

Returning to the present, Sander shook his head sadly, and pressed his face into his knees. He knew he never had a chance with Robbe to begin with, but now it will always be awkward--avoiding him and hiding-- and the painting of his beautiful boy will be tainted by the memory of how it made him uncomfortable. 

Sander felt miserable. He stayed curled up for several minutes just focusing on his breathing. His hand reached out automatically for the plants creeping up between the cobblestones, and he let their peace and calm wash over him.

Eventually he stood and turned back toward his stall again. Looking at his watch, he realized he only had 45 minutes left. “Ok,” he said out loud. “I can survive 45 more minutes. I can do this. I can.”

So he pulled his sketchbook back out and sat in his chair, though this time he spent more time lost in thought than drawing. 

Sander was about finished packing up his last box when the bookseller next door called, “Good night!”

“Oh, wait,” he called back. He went to his sketchbook and tore out the picture he had drawn of her that day. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

“Oh, Sander, thank you. That’s so sweet. It’s beautiful, and it looks so realistic. Thank you. Can I give you something for it?”

“No, no, please no, Eudora. I was just doodling when I was bored, and I thought you might like it. It’s a gift.”

“Well, thank you, and you have a good weekend!” And with that she grabbed her cart of boxes and departed. 

“You too,” he called to her back. 

“That was kind of you.”

Sander started. That voice. He knew that voice. Quickly he turned, and standing in front of his stall was Robbe, hair mussed more than usual and a ready, if slightly nervous, smile. 

“Ugh. Sure. Um. Hi,” was all Sander could get out. His hand involuntarily went to fuss with his hair, and he stared open-mouthed at the boy, eyes wide in shock. 

“Um, hi,” Robbe returned, shoving his hands into his pockets, his weight shifting from foot to foot. 

Neither of them spoke. They just awkwardly looked at and away from each other, pretending to be interested in the trees or the cobblestones. Sander could feel the moment slipping away from him, so he burst out, “Robbe, I--” just as Robbe said, “I’ve seen--.”

They both laughed nervously, eyes locking and then shifting away again. Silently, Robbe indicated with his shoulders and hands that Sander should go first, so with a steadying breath, Sander explained, “Robbe, again I am so sorry. I am sorry if the painting weirded you out. I promise I’m not creepy, and I am not stalking you. I just saw you fight a demon at the Scheldt one day, and then I kept seeing you around the city. I’m so sorry. I feel the worst about embarrassing you in front of your friend. I can only imagine how that must have felt. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Don’t be sorry--”

“What?” Sander interrupted, lifting his eyes to Robbe’s face.

“I mean it,” Robbe tried again. “Don’t be sorry. Your painting was so beautiful. Can I see it again?”

Shocked, Sander silently reached into a box and pulled the painting out and handed it to Robbe.

“Sander, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Is this how you see me?”

Swallowing, Sander answered, “No, this is what you look like. You look like an avenging angel when you fight, and your face might as well be carved from marble. It’s perfect.”

A small smile lifted the corners of Robbe’s mouth. “I think you greatly exaggerate, but thank you for the compliment.” He cocked his head and looked up at Sander, saying in a hushed voice, “I’ve seen you before.”

“What?” Sander said again, dumbfounded.

A little louder, he added, “I’ve seen you sketching at the skatepark, several places along the Scheldt, and at a cafe near the Institute.”

“Wha--you have? But,” Sander sputtered.

“You’re pretty memorable. I’d have to be blind not to have noticed you before. I think the first time I saw you was last year. You were sitting under a tree, completely absorbed in your drawing. I watched you for nearly half an hour, and you only looked up a handful of times.”

Sander looked at Robbe in wonder. It didn’t make sense. How could Robbe have noticed him before he had noticed Robbe? 

As Sander grappled with this new information, Robbe continued, “You know, I always wondered about you. Who you were? What you were sketching? Why you were always alone...” he trailed off. He shrugged minutely, shifting his eyes around the emptying market before returning to look directly into Sander’s eyes. “I didn’t even know you were Fey. I thought you were a Mundane.” He paused again, looking apologetic. “Sorry about that.”

“You weren’t far off, really. My Faerie heritage manifests itself most in my talents, not my looks. Unlike many of my kind, I can pass for Mundane without any glamours. I’ve always seen it as an advantage, though not everyone, or really anyone, in Faerie agrees.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Huh? With what?” Sander asked confused, his lips pouting slightly and his eyebrows scrunching together. 

“That you don’t look Fey. I should have noticed it right away. You’re ethereal and have an otherworldly beauty. No Mundane could be as stunning as you. I think I wanted to convince myself you were Mundane so that I wouldn’t have to muster up the courage to talk to you. As a Mundane, you’re off limits. As a Faerie, you’re possibly frowned upon but not forbidden, and Shadowhunter/Downworlder relationships have become more and more common since those bigots locked themselves in Alicante. I think I was just chicken shit.”

Sander was dumbfounded. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t move. His eyebrows were still pulled in, and the only part of his anatomy that worked was his jaw. It hit the floor. His brain kept repeating Robbe’s words: “Stunning,” “Relationships.” Did Robbe want a relationship?

“I can see I’ve freaked you out,” Robbe said, shoulders shrugging, hands still in his pockets, head tilted to the side. His smile, though, was still intact, and it radiated warmth like the sun. “How ‘bout this. Let’s step back for a second. Do you mind if I ask you some get-to-know-you questions? Maybe it will help everything feel less weird.”

“Ok,” Sander replied, “but I’m not freaked out by you. More I’m overwhelmed that this is really happening.”

His smile somehow growing bigger, revealing all three dimples, Robbe said, “Ok, let’s start at the beginning. Are you Seelie or Unseelie? Mother or father?

“Unseelie. My mother was a serving maid in the courts and met my father when the court traveled to Antwerp. She wasn’t permitted to leave her position, so I kind of grew up in both places. I live here mostly now and just visit my mother when I can.”

“Oh, that must’ve been hard,” Robbe said, his chin tilted up, his eyes lifting to lock on Sander’s, the pupils widening to make it look like his eyes were dark pools.

Again, Sander was surprised by Robbe’s empathy, his ability to realize that being both Mundane and Fey meant he didn’t really belong anywhere and might not be wanted anywhere. Unable to tear his eyes away, he responded, “It was.”

Still gazing into his eyes, he asked, “And your hair,” and as he said it, he took two steps forward and reached up to lightly touch Sander’s white hair, “Is it dyed, or natural?”

When Robbe touched his hair, Sander couldn’t hold back his gasp of surprise. Robbe’s fingers were gentle, brushing through the fringe on his forehead, curling around the strands on the side. His knuckles lightly stroked his temple, and Sander shivered. It took him a moment to realize he was holding his breath. Trying to let it out discreetly, and knowing he failed because of the slightly proud look on Robbe’s face, he answered, “Natural. It is usually white, but it will change color if I’m feeling a particularly strong emotion.”

Fingers still in Sander’s hair, eyes following his fingers, Robbe breathed, “I’d like to see that. How does it work?”

Sander blushed deep red, the heat creeping from his collarbones, up his neck, around his cheeks, and through to the tips of his ears. He was dying. Robbe was killing him.

He coughed, bringing his hand up to his mouth to give him some semblance of protection from the sexy onslaught. “Um, it will turn almost neon blue when I’m angry, and it turns midnight purple when I am...uh...aroused, though I’ve learned to control it so that it doesn’t happen unless I want it to.”

“I think midnight purple would be hot.”

Dying. Definitely dying. Dead. He was dead. His tombstone: “Death by Robbe.” Sander couldn’t believe this was happening. His crush. The boy he’d been secretly in love with for months was flirting with him. Openly flirting. Life was amazing! Grinning and finally letting his happiness spill out, he said, “You, sir, are a flirt.”

Removing his fingers from Sander’s hair but not stepping back, Robbe responded shyly, “Not usually. I...uh...actually haven’t really had anyone to flirt with before. How am I doing?”

With an even broader grin, Sander immediately said, “Excellent. I think you’re a natural.”

Robbe laughed. It was the most beautiful sound Sander had ever heard. “I’m glad. I kind of like it, and you make me want to act this way. But, enough distractions, I have one last question. How old are you?” He sobered a little as he asked it, as if he was worried about the answer.

“18.”

“And, uh…” he swallowed, “How many is that in human years?” 

Sander smiled in relief, understanding Robbe’s question and concern. He peered down at his watch, and then gazed back into Robbe’s eyes, saying with a cocky grin and a wink, “18. We’re actually not sure yet how I will age, but for now my looks match my age.”

Robbe let out the breath he was holding. “Oh, good. I don’t think I could handle it if you were like 300, not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“I get it. How much would a 300 year old Faerie have in common with a __?” Sander lifted his voice at the end, asking for Robbe to fill in the blank.

“Oh, yeah, 16.”

“With a 16 year old Shadowhunter,” Sander finished. “My guess is not much.” 

For a moment, they just smiled at each other, eyes roaming over each other’s features. Gathering up his courage, Sander took another step towards Robbe and reached for one of the hands hidden in his pockets. He turned it over and slowly traced shapes on his palm. “So,” he said.

“So,” Robbe responded, peeling his eyes away from his hand and gazing up into Sander’s eyes, his breathing shallow.

“So,” Sander said again. “There’s something we’re not saying.”

“What’s that?”

“For who knows how long, we’ve been looking for and possibly even following each other around this city. I was in a cafe near the Institute because I knew you’d be going to and from there a lot.”

“Yeah,” Robbe agreed, “I guess I would choose to walk through certain parks in the hopes that you would be there. I looked for you everywhere. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you today and realized you were one of the Faeries on the list. Oh, and sorry about Jens. He can get so focused that he forgets to be nice. He had no idea what a big deal meeting you was to me. He would have been way more obnoxious and invasive, though, so I’m glad he was totally unaware.”

“Did you ditch him? Find the culprit? What happened?”

“Well,” Robbe sighed, “We haven’t found anything yet. We talked to all the Fey here, but no one knew anything or had anything illegal with them. When Jens suggested we head back, I told him I had to run an errand and then went to find you.”

Still drawing on his palm, Sander replied, “I’m glad you did. Do you want to get out of here and grab dinner or whatever. It’s getting dark. If you wanted to come back to my place, I could make you dinner.” He blushed a little at the suggestion, but Robbe immediately agreed, nodding.

“Your place sounds great. Do you need help with the boxes?”

“Not really. I have a trolley that I stack them on, and I can easily wheel it home. I don’t live very far from here, actually.”

“Ok.”

Together, they packed the trolley and walked towards Sander’s flat. In one hand Sander pulled the trolley, but in the other, he held Robbe’s strong, calloused hand. As they walked, they talked, moving closer to each other with each step until they were touching from shoulder to hip.

They had just entered a deserted square with five adjoining streets and a small, round fountain in the center when Robbe groaned, “Not now!”

“What is it,” asked Sander.

“Demons. I can smell them. I have to leave,” he said dejectedly, shoulders drooping.

“No!” cried Sander emphatically. “I’ll come with you.”

“It’ll be too dangerous. Are you a trained fighter?”

“No,” replied Sander, downcast.

Looking sad and disappointed as well, Robbe took both of Sander’s hands and said, “Can you wait here? I’ll be back soon, and I’ll find you.” He squeezed his hands and then ran down the block and turned right at the corner, pulling out his phone. 

Sander watched him go, slightly worried and definitely disappointed. He hadn’t thought about this aspect of being with Robbe. Well, to be honest, he’d never let his imagination get this far. Robbe was a Shadowhunter, and the job always came first. Until now, he’d never really worried about him, that he’d be injured while fighting demons, but now the reality was staring him in the face. One day he might not come back. 

Frowning, eyes cast down, Sander moved over to the fountain in the middle of the square and leaned his trolley against the brick. He pulled out his sketchbook and began outlining a picture of a boy holding a painting. He hummed the melody of “As the World Falls Down,” thinking that falling in love with a Shadowhunter was kind of like falling in love while the world falls apart around you. The demon threat never ends, and they are the bright light amidst the chaos.

Sander had always thought of Robbe as a shining beacon, a thing of beauty but also a beautiful soul. He remembered watching Robbe stop chasing a demon to help a little girl get up after she was pushed aside by another Shadowhunter. He’d also seen him buy an ice cream for several kids at the skatepark. Sander’s favorite memory, though, was when he’d watched Robbe help a friend, Jens maybe, getting ready to meet a date outside the Institute. The friend was clearly dressed up and nervous, and Robbe tried to calm him down by smoothing out his clothes, stealing his phone, and dancing around and tripping on things to make him laugh. The best part had been his look of pride and support when his friend walked away holding a werewolf boy’s hand. 

Sander had also thought he’d looked wistful. He could only guess as to why. At least he knew Robbe was supportive of different kinds of relationships, which was a nice surprise. Knowing that his Shadowhunter was kind had made Sander’s heart ache for him all the more.

Hearing a shout, Sander snapped out of his reverie. He lifted his head, eyes scanning the square. Nothing appeared, but he did hear faint voices. Just in case, he pulled a dagger from his left boot, gripping the handle but curling the blade back towards his wrist. The voices grew closer, but Sander couldn’t tell what direction they were coming from. He remained alert, watching all the entrances to the square. 

Just as his eyes had turned East, three Fiat-sized, fat demons blobbed into the square from the north. They were fast, but they moved like caterpillars. Ten paces behind them came Robbe and Jens. Robbe was holding a seraph blade in each hand, and Jens carried a bow and quiver with crossed swords on his back. 

The demons looked for an exit to the square and decided to climb the buildings on Sander’s left. Robbe cut off the first one by leaping onto the balcony of a first floor apartment. He stood on the railing and slashed at the demon, causing it to fall. It landed comically, like a blob of jello. Robbe flipped off the railing and landed in front of the demon, slashing it across the face this time, splashing ichor everywhere. The demon lunged for him, but Robbe rolled to the side. He rose quickly to his feet and sliced at the demon again. This time the blade stuck in its gelatinous body. Instead of letting go, he used the blade for leverage and arced his other seraph blade down onto the head of the demon. He then pulled both blades wide, freeing his blades and severing the head of the demon. As ichor spilled into the streets, the demon started to disintegrate. 

While Robbe was fighting his demon, Jens was shooting arrows at the other two still climbing the wall. The arrows were having little effect apart from making the demons look like pin cushions. Fearing they’d escape to the roof, Jens called out to them, “Hey, ugly! Yeah, you. I’ve never seen such a fat demon. What is it exactly that you do? Do you sit on people? Suffocate them with your butt? I can’t tell which end is your face. Why don’t you come back down here so I can find out? C’mon butt face, you know you want to fight me!”

Sander had little time to wonder if this was a common Shadowhunter tactic because the ground shook violently. Both demons had landed heavily in the square, their bodies undulating for several seconds.

Jens grinned, “Yesssss!” He nodded to Robbe, and they each took a demon. 

Robbe’s demon was closer to Sander. Sander could see Jens running around, but it was hard to keep track of what was going on because Robbe’s demon was blocking his view. 

Robbe twirled his blades and then arced one after the other across the demon’s face. The demon opened its mouth, which contained five rotating circles of teeth, and lunged at him. Robbe stepped aside and brought his blade down on its neck. The demon then shifted to the side suddenly, knocking Robbe down. He fell hard on his back, and one of the blades sailed out of his hand. 

The demon was quick to take the advantage and settled its bulk on top of Robbe’s legs. He was stuck, and the mouth full of teeth was descending.

Without thinking, Sander threw his knife straight at the demon’s eyes, and then he reached into his other boot and threw that one as well. The demon reacted by lifting its head and roaring. The weight change allowed Robbe to get his feet free, and he stabbed the demon in the neck with a dagger he’d pulled from his belt. His seraph blade came straight down onto the demon’s skull buried up to the hilt. The demon collapsed and slowly oozed until it too disappeared. 

Looking around the square, Sander found Jens alone covered in Ichor on the other side of the fountain. Ascertaining that both demons were gone, he ran directly for Robbe, who was sitting up breathing heavily. 

With no hesitation he fell to the ground and hugged him. They sat hip to hip, legs facing opposite directions, hugging in the middle of the square. Sander dug his fingers into Robbe’s back, and Robbe, to his delight, was hugging Sander just as tightly. 

They were still sitting like this when Jens arrived. “Ok,” he said, “this is an interesting development.” 

Robbe giggled, and Sander could feel it reverberating in his own body. “Jens,” Robbe said brightly, “technically we were on a date when I smelled the demons and called you.”

“A date? That was quick. When? How?” he stuttered. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know. Just be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Oh, and Faerie boy,” Jens said, looking at Sander.

“Sander,” Robbe interjected. 

“Sander,” Jens sighed, “Make sure he gets some clean clothes. I’m sure you’ll enjoy finding him something else to wear. Ichor burns.”

Robbe rolled his eyes at Jens, “Thanks, mom. Should I be home by midnight?”

Laughing, Jens turned to walk away, flipping Robbe off. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Have fun, you two.” 

Robbe rolled his eyes one more time at Jens’s departing figure. “My Parabatai can be an ass, but he’s actually pretty awesome. I think you’ll like him. Once he realizes you saved me, he’ll be more fond of you too.” Pulling away from Sander a little, he smiled softly and then leaned in to touch foreheads. “Thank you for that, by the way. I thought you said you weren’t trained.”

“Well,” Sander said, sitting back a little, “I’m not trained. I’m no warrior or soldier. I’m an artist. But. No one in Faerie would be able to survive without a few basic skills. My mother taught me how to throw knives, and my father gave me boxing lessons. Do I feel capable of fighting a demon? No. Can I throw a knife or a punch so that you can get up and fight one? Yes.”

Robbe giggled again. “I like that idea, though if you’re going to be around me more, I think it would be safer for you to have more training.”

“Only,” Sander said with a wink, “if you’ll be my teacher.”

“I think that can be arranged. But for now, Jens’s is right. I need to change, and if you’re still making me dinner, I’ll need to borrow your clothes. Do you mind?”

“Definitely not!” Sander stood and holding out his hand, he pulled Robbe up. Together they strode over to the fountain and grabbed Sander’s trolley before heading towards home. 

In his flat, Sander pulled a towel out of the linen closet and pointed Robbe towards the bathroom. While Robbe showered, he searched his drawers for his smallest clothes. Putting them in a pile, he placed them on the counter just inside the bathroom door.

He then turned his attention to the kitchen. Rummaging around in the refrigerator, he finally decided on something simple. Croques. He gathered his supplies and had started buttering the bread when Robbe entered. He looked fresh and clean and extremely sexy engulfed by Sander’s trackie bottoms and Freddie Mercury t-shirt. 

Peeling his eyes away, he returned to the bread and finished preparing the sandwiches. He turned to ask Robbe a question and saw him holding the painting again, staring at it intently.

“You’re not sick of it yet,” Sander joked.

Robbe’s eyes lifted off the painting and bore directly into Sander’s. With sincerity, he said, “Never. I will always love this painting. Not only because you made it but because it brought us together. Without it, I might never have had the courage to come back to your stall and talk to you. It’s a lot easier to ask you out if I already know you’re interested.”

Sander strode toward him, stopping a foot away. He took the painting gently and set it on a chair. With a lifted eyebrow and half-grin, he teased, “Actually, I believe it was I who asked you out.”

“Hmmmm,” Robbe responded noncommittally, “but I’m the one who came back to find you.”

“Perhaps,” he said taking another step forward, and then huskily added, “You want us to be together?” His hand lifted as if to reach out and touch Robbe, but then he hesitated and left it hovering.

Stepping forward so that Sander’s hand lay above his heart, Robbe whispered, “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” 

“Me neither,” breathed Sander. His gaze dropped to Robbe’s lips. He bit his own lip as he reached his other hand up to run his fingers through Robbe’s fluffy hair. It was as soft as he’d always imagined. His fingers stretched out, still massaging his hair, while his palm lightly cupped the back of his head. 

Robbe’s eyes were closed, but the corners of his mouth were turned up, and his face was relaxed and happy. 

His heart in his throat, he croaked, “Robbe. May I kiss you?”

“Please. Yes, God, please.”

And with that, Sander fisted the front of Robbe’s shirt and pulled his other hand towards him, bringing Robbe’s face slightly up as his own descended. Their lips touched lightly at first, moving in and retreating. Sander moved his hands to cup Robbe’s cheeks and pulled him a millimeter closer, and then without warning he pulled away. Robbe’s lips parted as he leaned forward, eyes closed, searching for Sander.

Sander very slowly leaned in and kissed the corner of Robbe’s mouth, then the other corner. Robbe’s mouth remained open as Sander left tiny kisses across his top lip and then his bottom one. He then brought his lips to Robbe’s lower lip and kissed it lightly before grabbing it with his teeth. 

Robbe groaned, and closed his mouth over Sander’s, biting Sander’s upper lip. He wrapped his arms around Sander’s neck and pulled him closer.

They moved slowly, exploring each other with just their lips. They spread light kisses over anything they could reach. Taking charge, Robbe grasped the back of Sander’s head and pulled it to the side, his kisses moving from the corner of Sander’s mouth, to his cheek, over to his ear, and down his neck. 

Sander’s brain malfunctioned, and he gasped when Robbe started kissing along his collarbone. He _had_ to touch Robbe more. He bent forward, kissing the top of his head, and his hands found their way under Robbe’s t-shirt. Sander was so glad Robbe was no longer wearing tight gear. His fingers roamed over defined muscles, and they traveled up the middle of his spine to splay across his shoulder blades. Robbe looked up then, brown eyes soft and dark, full of desire. 

Catching his eye for the briefest moment and smirking, Sander then leant forward to run kisses up and down Robbe’s neck, tracing his revealed runes with his lips, as his hands continued to roam under his shirt. He stopped in the hollow below Robbe’s ear and kissed the spot. Peeking his tongue out to lightly lick it first, he then nipped at it with his teeth.

Making a half squealing, half groaning sound Sander didn’t know was possible, Robbe shrugged away. Before he even realized what was happening, Robbe had put his arms around his neck and had wrapped his legs around Sander’s waist, and he was kissing Sander passionately. 

This time they explored each other with tongues. Their kisses were hotter, needier. Sander could feel Robbe growing more frantic as his kisses grew sloppier. He was almost climbing Sander’s body to be able to kiss him more firmly. 

Sander started to stagger under the extra weight. He moved his hands to grasp Robbe’s bottom and shuffle-walked the five feet to the wall. He then pushed Robbe higher up on the wall and kissed his neck, trailing his tongue over the spot where he could feel Robbe pulse hammering underneath the skin.

He bit the spot playfully, and then moved his lips up to Robbe’s ear, whispering breathily he said, “Do you have any idea how much I’ve dreamt of doing this? Having you here, wrapped around me, touching you everywhere.”

Climbing a little higher and bringing his lips to Sander’s ear, Robbe licked it, which made Sander’s knees nearly buckle, and he panted, “I can’t imagine it’s half as much as I’ve fantasized about you. You’ve been in every one of my dreams for the last year, and let me tell you, you have a lot to live up to.”

Sander snort-laughed dropping his forehead to Robbe’s shoulder and smiling to himself. “I only hope you’ll give me the chance.”

“Whoa, Sander!”

Lifting his head to look at Robbe, he asked, “What?” He saw that Robbe’s eyes were open, staring at his hair.

A wicked grin appeared on his face, and Robbe said slyly, “Remember when I told you I thought midnight purple would be hot? I was wrong.”

Nervously, “You were?”

“Well, yes and no. I mean, it is hot, but this is beyond anything I could imagine.” Reaching for Sander’s now dark hair, he twirled it in his pointer finger. “It’s remarkable, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said with awe. “How long will it last?”

Nuzzling his face into more of Robbe’s hand and laughing a little, he said, “I have no idea, actually. If you stick around, it may never go back. Or, it might go white when you stop touching me. I dunno. I’ve never really wanted anything as much as I want you.”

“Well,” he said, releasing Sander’s hair and wrapping his arms more tightly around his neck, “I don’t want to ever stop touching you, but I am hungry. So…” In support his stomach gave a loud growl. Sander laughed, and Robbe looked a little embarrassed. “I missed lunch, and you know, Shadowhunter metabolism.”

Smiling warmly at him and stepping away from the wall, he allowed Robbe to slowly lower himself to the floor. Before letting go, however, he gave him a quick peck on the lips, which Robbe returned warmly with a deeper kiss. Breaking away, Sander waved his finger in front of Robbe’s nose. “Oh, no no, Shadowhunter, I have to feed you.” 

Sander made to return to the kitchen, but Robbe reached out and grabbed his t-shirt. “Wait. Three more things.”

“Ok,” Sander said, eyebrows raised, chin tilting up.

“Ok. One,” and he lifted his mouth to Sander’s, giving him a filthy kiss, hands moving to the hem of his t-shirt. Lifting it up to his armpits to reveal his chest and stomach, and then staring directly into Sander’s eyes, he placed three kisses traveling up the center of his stomach and a lingering one on his right nipple. 

Sander’s entire body felt like it was collapsing in on itself, heat pooling in his lower belly, legs turning to jelly. He barely kept eye contact with Robbe as he came back up and kissed him on the lips. Robbe pulled away, smiling wickedly, and said, “I want to make sure your hair stays this color all night.”

Sander swallowed, “And two?”

“Ah yes, that one is a question. The painting. Why did you choose to paint that specific expression on my face? I was a little embarrassed at first, but now I just think it’s hot.”

“Umm, “ and then Sander coughed, trying to buy time. “Uh, that’s the face I see in my dreams, and I wanted to be the one to make you look like that.”

Giving Sander a bright smile and another chaste kiss on the lips, Robbe said, “I thought it might be something like that, so three.” He paused and then pulled Sander’s ear down to his lips, and whispered, “After you feed me, you’ll get the chance, and you’ll be able to tell me whether it lives up to your imagination.” 

With a movement like lightning, Sander pressed Robbe back up against the wall. Hands on Robbe’s hips, he easily lifted him up, and without needing a hint, Robbe wrapped his legs around his waist again. He attacked Robbe’s lips, no hesitation. He found himself trying to devour him. It was sloppy and all tongue. 

After a few more moments, Sander nuzzled his face into Robbe’s neck, and muttered, “I guarantee you that my imagination pales in comparison to the real thing.”

At that, Robbe looked up at him, mouth wet and red, his eyes swimming with desire and another emotion that Sander feared to identify. “See,” Sander said, “This is already far better than anything I could have dreamt, and we’re still practically in the kitchen.” 

They leaned against each other panting for a few more moments before Sander said, “Food.”

And Robbe replied, “Yes, food.” He then disentangled himself from Sander, and dropping to the floor, he brushed Sander’s shoulder, grabbing his hand as he walked back into the kitchen.

Sander allowed himself to be pulled along, and as he toasted the croques in the pan with Robbe’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind, head resting between his shoulder blades, he couldn’t help thinking that the day had made quite a turn. It had started off as a regular boring Friday, and now he had the one thing his heart had yearned for most. 

He put his hands over Robbe’s at his waist and turned his head to kiss him on the forehead, and Robbe kissed his back. 

“Baby,” Robbe murmured.

“Mmhmm.”

“Your hair is maroon. What does that mean?”

“Umm, it’s never been maroon before. I think--I think it must mean love. I’m sorry it didn’t stay purple, though we know how to fix that.”

Rubbing his nose between Sander’s shoulder blades and then lightly kissing the middle of his neck, Robbe murmured, “No, I like maroon. I like the color of love.”

And Sander’s heart burst with love and happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for going on this journey with me. I can't seem to let go of Sobbe or Shadowhunters, so my guess is that there will be more of these. 
> 
> Tumblr: @if-music-be-the-food-of-love


	2. Questions and Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbe and Sander get to know each other better by asking one another random questions while cuddling at Sander's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a week off from school and went on a writing frenzy. I have plans for this story to continue for at least 3 more chapters after this one (most already written), and I may start a side VDS as its own story because I really love this Jens.
> 
> Warnings: This series will heavily hint at a physical relationship, but it all happens off-screen. Nothing more than kissing. I'm keeping it at a T for now, but if you think I should up it to M, please let me know. There are curse words in the next few chapters.

“Blue or Green?”

“Green. Definitely green,” Robbe answered.

“Why?” Sander asked, shifting a little to get more comfortable.

“Well, for one, your eyes are green,” and he turned his head to give Sander a soft kiss on the temple. 

The corner of Sander’s mouth lifted, and he drawled, “I like where this is going...”

Robbe gave a shrug, or at least as much of a shrug as he could with his arms wrapped around Sander. “Really, that’s it. That’s the reason. I like blue and green, but if you’re going to make me choose. I choose your eyes.”

Shaking his head with a silly smile on his face, Sander kissed Robbe’s shoulder, and said, “You’re too cute. Such a sap.”

“Pfft, please. You’re worse than me.”

“Maybe.” Sander offered.

Robbe gave him a pointed look.

“Ok, I’m definitely worse, fine. Happy now?”

“Always,” he said softly, hugging Sander a little tighter.

Sander sighed happily in response.

They were snuggled in Sander’s bed, enjoying just being together and talking. Robbe lay sideways a little higher up on the pillows, his arms wrapped around Sander; while Sander’s arm lay across his chest, his hand gently caressing Robbe’s neck, with his head partially on the pillow and partially on Robbe’s shoulder. They’d had an early dinner, and because it was getting cold, they’d decided to spend their evening cuddling in bed. 

At some point, they’d started asking each other random questions, and it became a game, a fun way of getting to know one another better.

“Ok, my turn,” Robbe said.

“Fire away.”

“Favorite Queen song, and you can’t say ‘Under Pressure.’”

“Uuugh, you’re making me choose between my children. How dare you!”

“I could have asked you about Bowie…”

“That’s hardly a consolation….” Sander paused to think. Most people would say “Bohemian Rhapsody,” but he didn’t want to be most people. It wasn’t really his favorite, anyway. He flirted with saying “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” as a joke, but that didn’t feel right either. He could honestly name any of them and give a good reason. Should he go for sentimental or clever? Then, the answer came to him.

“The Show Must Go On.”

“Interesting. Why?”

“Because that’s how I looked at my life for the longest time,” he said self-consciously. “I felt confused about who I was and where I belonged, and I just had to keep going. Keep trying. Keep putting on a happy face for the world.”

“Do you still feel that way?” Robbe asked gently.

“Not really. It took me a while, but I think I’ve come to terms with being half-Fey. I kind of like being able to have a normal life while also being a member of Downworld. I can pick and choose what parts to participate in. There’s a freedom to it I didn’t realize as a kid. And now, of course,” his eyes lifted to look at Robbe, “I have you, and I’ve never been less confused in my life.”

“See what I mean? You are worse.”

Sander kicked him lightly under the blankets, “Hmpf...my turn. Sweats or Jeans?”

“Sweats. Easier to fight in. You’d choose jeans, wouldn’t you?”

Sander laughed and pretended to roll his eyes, but answered, “Yes. I have an image to uphold, you know.”

“Ok, dogs or cats?”

“Oooooh, I’m going to say cats, only because I can imagine a cat hanging around in my art studio, sunning itself by my paints, but I like dogs too. What about you?”

“Cats,” he smiled, playfully shoving Sander’s nose. “My lifestyle is not exactly conducive to walking a dog and feeding it regularly. Cats are more independent, and I can only imagine how much one would love to roam the halls of the Institute.”

“We should get a cat!”

Now it was Robbe’s turn to roll his eyes and laugh. “Sure, but let’s wait a bit first. It’s only been a week. We need to get to know each other first before we go adopting any furry babies.”

Sander pretended to pout, “There you go. You and your logic ruining all the fun. Again.”

Robbe moved his hand to stroke his thumb over Sander’s collarbone. “We’ll discuss it again in a few months, yeah?”

“Fine. Fine. Ok, _Dracula_ or _Frankenstein_?”

“Are we talking books, movies, or just monsters?”

“Books or movies.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Robbe said thoughtfully. “It’s _Frankenstein_ either way. I mean, Dracula is just twisted, but the Monster is pitiable. It’s not his fault that he was created and abandoned and left to figure life out on his own.”

“My Robbe, always the defender of the weak.”

Robbe blushed, a little. “Ok, my turn, _Harry Potter_ or the _Hunger Games_?” 

Sander scrunched up his eyes and looked sideways at Robbe, squeaking out a high-pitched, “ _Harry Potter_.” Taking a second to clear his throat, he continued in his normal tone, “When I was younger, I desperately wanted to be Harry or Hermione. I’d never want to be Katniss.”

“What about Peeta?” Robbe countered, his voice a little defensive.

Sander barked out a laugh. “You _would_ like Peeta! How in character of you.”

“What do you mean?” Robbe asked, genuinely confused.

“What does Peeta do for three whole books? Try to protect Katniss. Of course you’d love him! He’s the most loyal character ever!”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m right, aren’t I? He _is_ awesome.”

“Yes, he is, but…” Sander paused for effect. “ _Harry Potter_ is still better.”

“Actually,” Robbe laughed, “I agree. I was just giving you a hard time.”

Sander poked him in the ribs. “Hmmmm, dessert or fried foods?”

“Ha!” burst out of Robbe’s mouth. “I know how Jens would answer. Vettige Vrijdag and all. I don’t know, probably fried. I just like food, really.” He smiled.

Smiling with his mouth closed, Sander agreed, “Me too.”

“All right. Board games or video games?”

Sander groaned. “Can I say neither?”

“There aren’t exactly rules to this game, you know,” Robbe joked.

“I just spend most of my free time painting or listening to music, maybe reading or watching movies.”

“That’s ok. Jens and I play video games sometimes, but it’s hard to fit into our schedules too. Now that we’re on the patrolling rotation, we have even less time.”

“Yeah,” Sander grumbled. “I’m not a fan of your patrolling schedule either, to be honest.”

“Baby,” Robbe consolled, hugging him closer and rocking back and forth a few times. “It’s not that bad. I’ve been with you most nights this week.”

“I know.” He buried his face in Robbe’s neck. “I just miss you when you’re not here.”

Robbe smiled into his dark red hair, fluffing it with his breath. “I miss you too, you know. Jens is great company and all, but he’s not you.”

Sander hummed contentedly for a few seconds. Absentmindedly, he started playing with Robbe’s necklace. After a minute, he asked, “Is there a story behind this? You never take it off.”

Unconsciously, Robbe moved his hand to touch the necklace, and Sander covered his hand with his. “Yes. It’s an angel pendant, the last present my mom gave me before…”

Sander squeezed Robbe’s hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s ok.”

“No. It’s fine. My parents went to Paris for a meeting, and they were ambushed by demons in the Tuileries. They weren’t patrolling or anything. They were actually just enjoying the city, acting like tourists. They never made it to the meeting.” He paused. Sander lifted his head to kiss his cheek and squeezed his hand again.

Finally, Robbe continued, “The necklace was a birthday present. She said a Shadowhunter could never have enough protection and that the angel would protect me. I’ve never taken it off, and so far I’ve been safe. I’ve often wondered if it was enchanted, or if it was just a story she told a little boy.”

“I’m sorry. Though, enchanted or not, it’s a beautiful gift to remember her by. Just by wearing it, you honor her memory.”

Robbe’s lips formed a wobbly smile. “I hadn’t thought of that. She’s always with me, huh?”

Sander kissed his shoulder this time. “She’s your mother. Necklace or not, she’s always with you. Remember, love never dies. It lives on. She lives on in you.” He gently placed his hand over Robbe’s heart.

Almost fiercely, Robbe rolled on top of Sander,  capturing Sander’s hand between them and burrowing his face into Sanders' collarbone and shoulder. “I love you. So much. I feel like I’ve known you forever. I can’t believe it’s only been a week.”

“I know. I feel the same way. I’m sure part of that is the stalking we both did beforehand ,” he said half-jokingly.

“We could still be doing that...”  Robbe lifted his head, his face troubled. “You know, I didn’t want to interrogate Downworlders that day. I wanted to go home. It was Jens’s idea. What if…”

“No what ifs, Robbe. We found each other. That’s all that matters.”

Robbe buried his face in Sander’s neck again, nearly clawing at his shoulders to bring him closer. 

Trying to relieve his anxiety,  Sander rubbed circles on his back, saying, “Hey, it’s ok. I’m here.” He shoved at his shoulder a little. “Who’s turn is it anyway?”

“Ummm, mine, I think.”

Sander enjoyed the vibration of the M’s against his neck. “Ok, go ahead.”

“Ummm, painting or drawing?”

“Seriously? Not fair! How do I even answer that?”

Robbe lifted his lips to Sander’s ear, “as best you can.” Then he kissed his ear and rolled back over to lay next to him, arms still wrapped around him.

“Hmmmm,” Sander hummed, trying to buy time. “Drawing, I guess. It’s easier to carry a pencil and sketchbook everywhere, and I can’t imagine not having one. I don’t even know what I would do with my time if I couldn’t doodle and draw. Painting is more involved. It requires planning and supplies.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“You know,” he said, poking Robbe’s nose, “I practically have a whole sketchbook dedicated to you.”

“Seriously?”

He blushed, looking a little bashful. “Well, yeah. What do you think I was doing while I was ‘stalking’ you?”

“I know about the painting, obviously, but I didn’t know there were others. Can I see them?”

Sander nodded and hopped out of the bed to pull the sketchbook from his bag. Laying back down he nervously gave it to Robbe, who held it like a cherished possession. Glancing at Sander for permission one last time and receiving a nod, he gingerly opened the book and started turning the pages. 

After a couple minutes, Robbe let a giggle escape. 

“What?” Sander asked.

“It’s just. You spent a lot of time drawing me soaking wet, crawling out of the Scheldt.”

“Well, that’s what you looked like the first time I saw you. I wanted to capture exactly what it was that drew me to you. I don’t think I ever succeeded.”

Placing his hand on Sander’s forearm, Robbe said, “No. These are amazing. You are so talented. I feel honored to be your muse. Is that what you call it? A muse?”

Throwing him a winning grin, he replied, “I just called you my smoking hot Shadowhunter, but muse sounds much more professional. So yes, you are my muse.”

Robbe snorted. “Thanks. May I keep this to look at later?”

“Of course.”

Robbe set the book on the side table and snuggled back down. “Your turn.”

“Ok.” He thought for a moment. “Werewolf or Vampire? If you had to be turned, which would you prefer?”

“Definitely werewolf. I don’t even need to think about it.”

“Really?” Surprised, Sander sat up a little more so that he could face Robbe. “Why?”

“I think…” he hesitated. “I think it’s because as a werewolf I could fundamentally remain myself. I’d still be me. I could still fight. I could still protect people. My interests, beliefs, and worldview wouldn’t shift that much. As a vampire, I would live in conflict. I’ve wanted to protect people my whole life, to save them, not hurt them. Vampires crave blood. Would that bloodlust overwhelm my sense of self and control me? Would it cause me to hurt others? That’s terrifying. I’d much prefer being a werewolf.”

The more Robbe spoke, the more Sander sat in awe. He was stunned to silence. Instead of speaking, he cupped the back of Robbe’s head with his hand and pulled him in for a kiss. He tried to put all of his feelings into the kiss, to let Robbe know how impressed he was by his goodness and kindness, how much he loved him. 

“You’re the best person I know. A better person than me,” he finally said, pulling away. “I would have chosen vampire.”

“Saaander,” Robbe admonished, “that doesn’t make me a better person than you. It makes me a different person than you. Your reasons are valid.” He brought his hand up to Sander’s cheek and rubbed his thumb across his lips. Sander couldn’t help smiling. He kissed Robbe’s thumb and then bit it. 

“Ouch!” Robbe yelled, swatting at Sander. Sander countered by tickling Robbe, immediately reaching for his stomach. Robbe giggled and curled up into a ball with his hands wrapped around his middle, protecting himself. Sander, wanting to get to _the_ spot, crawled more on top of him and reached his hand up Robbe’s pant leg. 

Robbe howled and kicked, but Sander held firm and lightly ran his fingers along the back of Robbe’s knee and thigh. Robbe fussed and kicked some more, laughing, but he didn’t move his hands. Deciding that Robbe would need a little more persuasion, he moved his hand to Robbe’s inner thigh, just brushing the skin, higher...and higher... 

That was enough. Robbe, giggling uncontrollably, moved his hands to stop Sander’s, and Sander immediately jumped on his stomach. His free hand lifted Robbe’s shirt while his mouth descended to the indent in his waist between his hip and ribs. He bit him, and Robbe squirmed even more. He then closed his mouth over the spot and licked it furiously with his tongue.

Robbe screamed and pushed at his head, his legs kicking. “By the Angel...Ahh, Ok, ok. Stop.”

Sander stopped and shifted to hover his face over Robbe’s. He gave him a smug, satisfied smile and then a sloppy kiss, leading with his tongue. Robbe, his body relaxing a little, wrapped his arms around Sander and flipped them over and deepened the kiss. Placing his knee between Sander’s legs, he pulled away, bracing himself with Sander’s shoulders. “I’m going to kill you.”

Still smug and extremely proud of himself, Sander raised his eyebrows and looked innocent. “I will never get over how ticklish you are there. It’s my new favorite spot.”

“It’s not fair, though.”

“What’s not fair? I think it’s perfectly fair. You’re ticklish, and I love to tickle you.”

“Nope, it’s not fair that _you’re_ not ticklish.”

Sander lifted his head to kiss his nose. “I’m sure you'll find other ways to torment me, don’t worry. We have plenty of time.”

“True, I guess, and don’t think that I won’t try. Watch yourself,” he said pointedly, eyes pretending to be stern. He then leaned down and kissed Sander’s nose and flopped over next to him.

“Where did that come from, anyway?” Robbe asked, still a little breathless.

“Honestly?” He looked a little sheepish. “My reasons for choosing vampire were shallow, and I wanted to change the subject.” 

“Well, I think you succeeded.” He looked down at their legs and the messed up blankets. “You also made a mess of the bed.” He pushed the blankets down and crawled out of bed. “You fix them. I’ll be back,” and he walked to the bathroom.

Sander rolled his eyes dramatically even though there was no audience, but he smiled to himself, revelling in how happy he was and how right this all felt. 

This remarkable Shadowhunter loved him. Him, a half-Faerie of no special talent or magic. To think that he’d spent his childhood stuck between two worlds, searching for his home, only to find it here with a Shadowhunter, those mythical beings of angelic righteousness and supposed heartlessness. He’d been welcomed more openly by Robbe and even Jens than any full-blooded Fey he’d ever met. They weren’t heartless. Hyper-focused, maybe, but not heartless. Robbe had the biggest, most open, caring heart of any person Sander had ever met. How had he not noticed Robbe staring back at him for so long? 

Lost in his thoughts, he realized when he saw Robbe running toward the bed that he hadn’t adjusted the blankets yet. Instead of fixing them, he just opened them wide and closed them over Robbe as he jumped back in and wrapped himself around Sander.  
“Brrrr, it’s cold already. Do you own a heater?”

“Of cour--. Ahhhh,” yelped Sander. “You’re freezing!” Robbe’s fingers had found their way underneath his shirt, and his feet were dragging up his legs, curling underneath his pants. 

He started to push Robbe away. “No, seriously. How can you be this cold?”

Robbe just giggled,“But you’re so warm,” holding on tighter and trying to find more skin to touch with his bare hands and feet.

“Nope. No, you don’t.” Sander pressed his hands against Robbe’s chest. “You’re going into time-out until you warm up.” He laughed as Robbe’s fingers slowly started to peel off his back. Then he used his foot to push firmly but gently against Robbe’s stomach and move him even further away. 

Robbe whined, looking at Sander pleadingly with his big brown doe eyes. “But I’m cold…” He put on his best pouty face, hands reaching out for Sander, fingers curling and unfurling to grasp him, but Sander remained firm, still laughing.

“No. You stay over there in time-out and think about what you did.” Sander kept his foot against Robbe’s stomach and wiggled his toes a few times just for fun. Robbe giggled and then snuck his left leg out towards Sander, reaching for him with his toes.

“Oh, no you don’t!” He swung his opposite leg back and immediately realized his mistake. It had been a diversion. Robbe’s freezing hands were climbing up his leg, inside his pants. They were still freezing, and they were moving perilously close to his--. 

“Ahhhhh,” he simultaneously brought his hands to his groin and twisted his body to pull his leg away. He overestimated the force necessary to escape and ended up rolling right off the bed, landing with a thump on his shoulder, legs still twisted in the blankets up on the bed.

He heard Robbe howl with laughter, and then his face appeared above him, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He had crawled to the edge of the bed and was on his hands and knees looking down at Sander cry-laughing.

Sander tried giving him a stern look, narrowing his eyes and pinching his lips, but he couldn’t maintain it for long. Within a few seconds, he too was laughing uncontrollably.

In a movement that Sander found far too graceful for the moment, Robbe let his torso hang off the bed, and reaching one hand into Sander’s hair and the other onto his neck, he pulled himself down to kiss him. 

It was an awkward kiss. They were still laughing. Lips and teeth couldn’t seem to coordinate. They were also upside-down. Robbe was hanging off the bed precariously, and Sander was leaning sideways on one shoulder. It was absolutely the most ridiculous kiss in the most absurd position imaginable, and yet Sander couldn’t help thinking that he’d never felt so content.

Eventually gravity pulled their legs down in a tangled heap of blankets and limbs. Robbe took advantage and crawled further up Sander’s body until he lay fully on top of him, his hands still framing his face, elbows resting on the floor. “Here we are again. And where did your little protest get you? Hmmm.” He raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at Sander. “Nowhere. You are still at the mercy of my cold hands and feet.” He grazed his fingers along Sander’s cheeks and neck. 

Then staring straight into Sander’s eyes, he reached his right hand under Sander’s shirt. His open palm grazed over Sander’s stomach, up over his chest, and down over his ribcage back to his side. Keeping eye contact, he sat back on his heels, pushed Sander’s shirt up, and kissed his stomach, starting just below his belly button and moving out in a circle over his soft skin. Both hands were gripping his waist, just above his hip bone, thumbs pressing lightly into his stomach.

Sander no longer cared about cold hands or feet. He was solely focused on the lips touching his stomach and the heated eyes delving into his. His breath caught when Robbe pulled the waistband of his pajamas down slightly and kissed just above his hip bone, moving his lips to the sensitive skin at the crease of his hip. Sander’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head as Robbe left nibbling kisses all over his hip.

Deciding he’d had enough, Sander pulled Robbe back up towards his face, kissing him fiercely while kicking the blankets off of his legs. Once his legs were free, he rolled them over and stood up. He extended his hand to Robbe and then pulled him up and into his chest. Sliding his fingers into his hair, he kissed him tenderly as he turned their bodies, so Robbe’s back was to the bed. With a teasing smile, he gave Robbe one last kiss and then pushed him back onto the bed. 

Later, once they were cuddled together again under the fixed blankets, Sander returned to their previous conversation. “Seriously, though, no one’s feet should be that cold.”

“C’mon, you would have had cold feet if you’d gone to the bathroom.”

“No. My feet have never been that cold. That’s just unnatural.”

Robbe shoved him a little with his hip. “Really? That bad, huh?”

“They were like ice blocks,” he exaggerated, leaning his forehead against Robbe’s cheek. 

“Hmmm. You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said noncommittally as he played with Robbe’s necklace.

“Ok, here’s a question for you then, Sir I’m Always Warm. Would you prefer cold feet and hands or a person who is always sweating?”

“Can I buy him fuzzy socks and gloves and force him to wear them?”

Robbe rolled over on top of him, brushing his hand through Sander’s maroon hair and curling it around his index finger. “You can buy him socks and gloves, but he makes no promises about wearing them and NEVER in bed.” Robbe accented the never by giving the hair at Sander’s temple a light pull.

“Never? What if it’s really cold?”

“Well, that’s his prerogative, not yours.”

“I see I’m going to lose this battle aren’t I?”

“Yes, you love me; therefore, you love my cold feet and hands.” Robbe smiled down at Sander beatifically. “You’ll just have to suffer for love.”

Sander snorted initially, but overwhelmed by emotion, he turned his head to the side briefly to collect himself. When he looked back up at Robbe, his eyes were a little misty and his hair was an even darker shade of maroon. “I’d suffer a lot more than cold hands and feet to be with you.” He pulled Robbe to his chest and held him tight, so grateful that he had this glorious Shadowhunter to love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr:  
> @if-music-be-the-food-of-love


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sander finally agrees to let Robbe train him at the Institute.
> 
> No warnings.

Chapter 3: Training

Sander tried to look confident as he strolled down the street holding Robbe’s hand. It was a bright, crisp Autumn day, and they were headed to the Institute for his first training session. Robbe was clearly excited, chattering about the different weapons they could try out and elaborating on their pros and cons. Sander, if he was being honest, was trying not to break out into a cold sweat. He was nervous. Really nervous.

He and Robbe had been together a few weeks now, and Sander had finally given in to Robbe’s pleas to train him. At first, he’d not responded when Robbe mentioned training, distracting him instead. Then, when he could no longer avoid the topic, he continually found reasons to be busy when Robbe suggested it. And then finally, he couldn’t put it off anymore, so here he was: the Institute. They had arrived.

Sander gulped and looked up at the heavy, ornate oak entrance. To those with the Sight, the Institute looked like an enormous medieval castle with turrets, wings, and towers. A flight of cracked stone steps led to heavy wooden doors big enough for a semi to enter easily. 

Anachronistically, the stairs began at a modern sidewalk. The Antwerp Institute was in a high-end shopping district, frequented by tourists and shoppers. It was glamoured to look like a shopping center under construction. Local Mundanes believed the building owners were caught up in an unending legal battle. The unfinished building had become a local legend. 

For Sander, it was downright intimidating. 

The Institute represented _The_ Law, the strict Shadowhunter Laws that until recently forbade Faeries from even talking to Shadowhunters, let alone dating them or visiting the Institute. Who knew what kind of people he would find inside. Robbe was obviously amazing, and Jens wasn’t too bad. But… Most Shadowhunters, from what he understood, were not comfortable around Downworlders. 

Steeling himself to step over the threshold, he glanced over at Robbe’s smiling, confident face, dimples on display, eyes lit up with excitement. Sander gulped again, and Robbe squeezed his hand reassuringly before opening the doors. Together they walked into an elaborately decorated hall. A gigantic crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and candelabra were built into the stone sconces. Velvet curtains and ancient tapestries hung from the walls, and a thick red carpet ran the length of the space. Spindly-legged tables and colored glass lamps on multi-colored doilies and scarves appeared every few feet. He could feel the age of the building, the heaviness, the echo of past voices bouncing around the stone walls. The Institute was old and tired but well maintained. 

For Robbe, it was home. The moment Robbe entered, Sander could see his shoulders relax and the tension he hadn’t previously noticed leave his face. This was where Robbe belonged, and it made Sander feel like even more of an outsider. Robbe was clearly comfortable in a place that gave him anxiety.

“Hey,” Robbe said, putting his arm around Sander’s waist as they continued inside. “It’s going to be fine. You’re with me, and Jens is here somewhere. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Attempting to ignore his nerves, he replied glibly, “But who is going to protect me from the decor? It’s ghastly in here.”

Robbe laughed, digging his fingers into Sander’s side and looking around. “You’re right,” he agreed. “It _is_ awful. I never noticed it before.”

“It’s downright gaudy. How are your eyes not bleeding? How are my eyes not bleeding?” he asked, pretending to claw at his eyes. His smile, though, belied his words and actions.

“I’m used to it?” Robbe questioned, looking at him sideways with a broad grin.

“How long have you lived here?” Sander asked, sobering a little. 

“Jens’s parents took me in when I was eight, so it’s been eight years. Wow, I hadn’t realized.”

“Yeah,” Sander smiled. “You’re used to it. You probably can’t even see it anymore. The rest of us, however…” and he squinted and held his hand in front of his face, pretending to be blinded.

“Ok, now you’re just being dramatic.” He looked sideways at Sander and shoved him with his shoulder. Releasing his waist, he grabbed his hand again and started pulling him up a flight of stairs. “C’mon, it’s time to show you my favorite room.”

“Your bedroom, I hope?”

Robbe’s laugh echoed in the stone stairwell. “No, the training room. It’s amazing.”

“I’d rather just go to your bedroom. I’m sure we can find something to practice in there.”

Robbe abruptly turned around on the stair above him. He placed both hands on either side of Sander’s neck and then kissed him firmly, opening his lips just enough to lick and nip at Sander’s upper lip. Pulling back, a little breathlessly, he said, “I promise we’ll go to my room later. You’ll have a 5-Star experience at Casa Robbe.” 

Sander couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. With his hands on Robbe’s hips, he pulled him forward for another quick kiss. “It’s a deal.”

Robbe grabbed his hand again, heading back up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s go.”

Sander followed him with a silly smile on his face. 

“So. Where do you want to start?”

Sander looked up at the weapons wall and shrugged. “I dunno. Which one’s your favorite?”

“My favorite combination is a seraph blade and a knife, but I’m also pretty effective with a whip.”

“A whip, eh?” Sander grinned wryly at him. “Aren’t you just full of surprises.”

“Don’t you go getting any ideas. I associate it with demons and ichor. Gross. It’d be like you getting overly excited by a green colored pencil, and I’m pretty sure I’m not into that kind of thing, anyways.”

Sander snorted. “Depending on the brand of pencil, I could get pretty excited,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, “but maybe not that kind of excited.” He rubbed his hand across his slightly reddened cheeks. “Honestly, though, I’m not really into that either, so whew,” and he wiped his fingers across his brow, smiling. “Bullet dodged. Good talk.”

This time Robbe laughed, leaning into Sander and resting his head on his shoulder for a few seconds. “But seriously. Training.” He paused, thinking. “How ‘bout this. Let’s start with you showing me what you know, and we’ll expand your skills from there. You don’t really need to know how to use all these weapons. You just need to know how to defend yourself with one or two of them.”

“Ok, sure. Where are your throwing knives and targets? Let’s get this over with.” 

For the next half hour, Sander threw knives at a series of targets. Some were close. Some were quite far and high. Sometimes they moved. Every few minutes or so, Robbe would step in with advice on technique and strategy. When they worked on form, Robbe’s arms around Sander, adjusting his grip and stance, Robbe allowed a few kisses and minor distractions, but overall, he was a strict taskmaster, keeping Sander busy and focused. Sander hit the targets more than half of the time, but it was obvious that he needed to work on accuracy. 

In between sets, when Robbe went to retrieve the thrown knives, Sander had to run wind sprints. According to Robbe, being able to run away was his greatest defense, and he needed to build up his stamina. 

After his fifteenth set of sprints, Sander collapsed onto a thick mat, breathing heavily. “I think you’re trying to kill me. Wait--” he placed two fingers against his jugular, “yep, I’m dying.” With a loud thud, his arms fell to the mat, landing in a T, and he closed his eyes.

He felt Robbe land beside him, and before he could turn or open his eyes, Robbe had climbed on top of him, sitting astride his waist, hands lightly touching his shoulders. Peeking one eye open, he asked, “Are we wrestling next because I might be down for that?”

Robbe pressed his hands harder into Sander’s shoulders and giggled. “Not yet. I thought I’d save hand-to-hand for last.” 

“And why’s that?”

“Because you look incredibly sexy right now, and we’ll get absolutely nothing done if I let you touch me.”

“Ha!” Sander countered. “I look like a bleached-out drowned rat, and I feel like death.”

Robbe leaned down, bumped their noses together, and then whispered in his ear, “Ok, maybe a sexy, dead rat, though your hair is not exactly white right now.”

Turning to kiss his jaw, he asked, “I wonder why?”

“Nope. Nope. No. No. And no,” came a loud voice. 

Sander and Robbe reacted quickly, separating and standing up fast. Sander lost his balance and fell heavily into Robbe, which was understandable because his legs felt like jello. Robbe set him upright and turned to face Jens. 

Jens was dressed in gear. A flashy silver sword was strapped to his back, and several knives stuck out of pockets and holsters all over his body. His head shook side to side while he furrowed his brows and pinched his lips.

“Good. You’re here,” Robbe said brightly. 

“I said no.”

“Actually,” countered Robbe, “I distinctly remember you saying ‘yes’ less than two hours ago.”

“Well, that was when I was agreeing to help with a training session. I refuse to be subjected to an hour of you two flirting and making out.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” interjected Sander, somewhat sourly. “He’ll barely let me touch him.”

“Really? Then what did I just witness? My eyes are still burning.” He rolled his eyes, letting his head fall to the side, and looked pointedly at Robbe.

“Don’t be overdramatic,” Robbe said, sidling over to his _Parabatai_ and jumping on his back briefly to ruffle his hair. “I suffered a momentary lapse. We’ll be good, I promise.”

“Hmpf,” was all Jens replied.

Robbe turned back to Sander and said, “I asked Jens to help us out with sword training. He’s a much better teacher than I am when it comes to blades.”

“How much does he plan on torturing me?”

“Well,” answered Jens with a slightly evil grin, “that depends on what you consider torture.”

Looking directly at Robbe, Sander deadpanned, “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

“Probably. This is going to be fun!” and he practically skipped over to the weapons wall and pulled down a short sword.

“You Shadowhunters are seriously masochistic, and your idea of fun is disturbing,” he yelled at Robbe’s back. He may have also grumbled a bit about Shadowhunters having way too much energy as Robbe bounded back.

“Here,” Robbe said, handing Sander the sword. “Seraph blades won’t work for you, so it makes sense for you to get used to a slightly heavier weapon.” He looked up at Jens and nodded.

Jens coughed to clear his throat. “Ok. We’ll start by setting your stance, and then you’ll mimic my movements. We’ll go slow with a lot of repetition. Robbe will step in to help with your form when needed. Good?”

Sander nodded.

For the next half hour, they practiced basic footwork and sword positions over and over again. Sander did his best to mimic Jens’s movements, but Jens was fast and sure while Sander felt like he was slicing through mud. He was pretty sure he looked like a sweaty idiot waving a stick around. 

Robbe interjected occasionally and critiqued his form when he got tired or sloppy, but he frustratingly stayed far away, moving around Sander in a circle to see every angle. 

“Ok,” Jens said as he stopped.

“Are we done?” Sander asked with relief.

Lifting his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes at Sander, Jens just said, “Ugh, no.”

Robbe bounded over from the corner. “What’s up?”

“Go grab your sword. I think he’s ready for an opponent,” Jens answered.

As Robbe ran to grab a sword, Sander glanced sideways at Jens and asked, “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt him because I suck.”

“I wouldn’t worry. He won’t let anything happen.”

Jens’s words puzzled Sander, but he didn’t have time to think about it because Robbe had returned. Jens reset Sander’s stance and began calling positions. Sander tried to move correctly, and Robbe parried whatever Sander actually did. Their swords clanged together slowly. 

Eventually, Sander began to notice a pattern in the moves Jens called. They were repeating a series over and over again. As they kept going, he grew more confident, actually looking at Robbe.

Robbe looked calm, at his ease really. It was kind of embarrassing how something that completely wrecked him didn’t even cause Robbe to break a sweat. “Not fair,” he mumbled.

“What?” Robbe asked, leaving his mouth open as he parried another strike.

Sander lunged and thrust, and then said, “You. You don’t even look tired.”

“Shadowhunter?” He shrugged.

“Disgustingly unfair,” he said arcing his sword to the left. 

“I don’t see why.” His sword clanged against Sander’s. “I don’t have mood ring hair.”

Sander reset and then lunged again, grunting out a “Hmpf.” 

Barely flicking his wrist to bat away Sander’s sword, Robbe replied, “I can’t paint or draw either. In fact, I’m pretty sure a straight line is beyond me.”

“Still not fair,” Sander mumbled, moving his sword the wrong direction. Robbe jumped back, sword sweeping forward to block Sander’s mistake. 

The momentum turned Sander around. As he tried to regain his balance, he felt hands on his shoulders, steadying him, and lips at his ear, “and why’s that?” Robbe bit his earlobe and then pushed him forward, bouncing backwards to start again.

Eyes and hair darkening, Sander turned to face Robbe again. Jens called out the next move, a block, and as Robbe brought his sword down on Sander’s, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Because I’ll never get to see you all hot and sweaty.”

Jens called another block, Sander and Robbe both stepped forward, arms up, faces a little closer than necessary. “Oh, you’ve already seen me hot and bothered,” Robbe flirted, one corner of his mouth twitching up as he winked. He moved closer, leaning his head in as he whispered, “And for the record, we both know that I sweat.”

A laugh burst out, and Sander began to feel heated in a very different way. He lowered his sword, closing the space between them. He cocked his head to the side. “True. Very tr--”

“Nope, no. Stop it.” Jens interjected loudly. “You’re flirting. Again. No. Uuuugh. If you have time to flirt, I’m not making it hard enough. Come back over here, and we’ll try a new sequence.”

Sander groaned but grinned at Robbe, giving him a playful shove with the handle of his sword. Robbe responded by bumping him with his hip as he walked by. They set up again, and Jens was true to his word. The new sequence required all of Sander’s attention and focus, officially ending their flirtation. 

After a series of lunges and thrusts that carried him down the length of the room, Sander threw up his hands and called, “Uncle. Mercy. Or whatever the hell I have to say to make it stop.”

Robbe stood up tall, letting his sword fall to the side. “Do you need a break?”

“I think I need new arms and legs. Mine are officially useless. Why don’t I go sit on the mat over there and watch you two for a while?” 

Robbe looked at Jens with raised eyebrows, and Jens nodded. They squared off, and Sander could hear the clang of their swords as he stumbled towards the mat. When he’d said ‘sit’ on the mat, he’d really meant collapse and lie down. 

For the first few minutes, he ignored their sparring, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling while catching his breath. He’d never exerted himself this much in his life. He was an artist, not a warrior, and his current physical state was making him rethink his life choices. What was he doing here?

As his breath slowed, he turned his head to watch the two boys fight. Jens clearly had the advantage of height and strength, but Robbe was fast, lightning fast, often catching Jens off balance when he was able to make an extra slash or jab. 

They fought like they were in a dance, movements coordinated and smooth. Sander couldn’t help focusing on Robbe, watching the way his halo of hair floated around him as he turned and jumped. His eyes were lit up with an inner glow, catching the light from the windows, but also acting like shining beacons into his soul. Robbe was in his element here. Happy and confident. He looked radiant.

Sander’s fingers itched for something to draw with. He wanted to capture the moment, to show Robbe just how much he looked like an avenging angel, to show him that he practically glowed with goodness. Sander had never met anyone so kind and thoughtful, and it was visible in his face even as he fought. Robbe didn’t fight to kill or hurt. He fought to protect--to protect Jens, to protect Sander, to protect Downworlders, and to protect the millions of unknowing Mundanes everywhere. Even now, fighting his _Parabatai_ for the millionth time, he was careful to make sure none of his cuts went amiss. He was trying to outmaneuver Jens while also not hurting him. Robbe had serious skills, and it was becoming very clear to Sander that Robbe would be winning this fight. Sander was suddenly appreciative of how easy Robbe had gone on him earlier.

They called it after another five minutes, both breathing heavily but smiling and clasping one another’s shoulders briefly before grabbing some water from the table.

“I thought you said Jens was better?”

“Oh no,” laughed Jens, pouring some water on his face and shaking his head. “Not even close.”

“What he means,” Robbe explained, “is that I can kick his ass.”

Jens rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree.

“Ok, so I don’t get it. Why did you bring Jens in here to teach me when you’re the better swordsman?”

“Jens is by far the better teacher. I get impatient and snippy and just want to do everything myself. I figured that I shouldn’t subject you to that on the first day.”

“I prefer the bow,” added Jens.

“Wait. First day?” Sander asked confusedly.

“Yeah,” said Jens. “If you’re going to get any good at this, we’ll have to meet a couple times a week at least. If you were a Shadowhunter, I’d insist on every day.”

“A couple times a week?” Sander asked in a high pitched squeak. He coughed. In a deeper voice he added, “I won’t be able to move for a week. How am I supposed to do this again?”

“Saaaaaander,” whined Robbe, stepping closer to him on the mat. “We talked about this. I need to know that you’ll be safe around me, that you can run or defend yourself if need be. Life is more dangerous around a Shadowhunter. I want to keep you safe.”

“I know, Angel, but---”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Jens said loudly. He swung his sword onto his shoulder, flat edge down, and grabbed his discarded gear jacket. “Angel, honestly?” he grumbled under his breath as he walked out the door. “We actually have angel blood. We’re Shadowhunters.”

From far down the corridor, his voice called out, “See you Friday, Faerie boy, and don’t be late!”

“Your _Parabatai_ is something else. I can’t figure him out.” 

“He’s the best. I know you’ll grow to like him. From what I can tell, he likes you,” Robbe smiled encouragingly.

“Ha! That’s him liking me? I’d be afraid of what him not liking me looks like.”

“Nah, he’s just hyper-focused on being a Shadowhunter and tends to avoid relationships and feelings. He says he’s not ready or not interested. He has a dry sense of humor, and he’s the funniest person to hang out with once you break down his barriers. You’ll see.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You ready to go?” Sander asked hopefully.

“No,” Robbe responded quickly. “While you may have successfully changed the subject and distracted me, we are not done with this conversation. You do understand why I want you to train, right?” Robbe reached a hand down and pulled Sander up.

“Yes, I know. And I get it, I really do,” Sander sighed, “but I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m terrible at it.”

“Which is why I want you to improve, and you’re not terrible. You’re pretty good with a knife. I mean, you saved my life once already.” He reached up to touch Sander’s face. “It’s just I worry about you. How can I fight demons and protect others if I’m always worried about you? I need you to be safe.”

Sander placed his hand over Robbe’s and leaned into his palm. “I know. I just feel dumb.”

Robbe’s face fell a little, and looking self-conscious, he stuttered, “I mean, you don’t have to do this...uhm, if it’s not worth it...then you don’t have to worry about all of this,” and he waved his hand around vaguely.

Reaching out to grab Robbe’s shirt with his free hand, Sander pulled him forward until they were flush against one another. He pressed their foreheads together, rocking side to side for a few moments. He wrapped his arms around Robbe, lifting him up until their lips touched, trying to kiss away Robbe’s doubts and fears, assuring him with his touch. He slowly lowered him back down and looked directly into his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much I love you? I’d probably walk through fire for you. I can suffer a bit of physical discomfort.”

Robbe released the breath he was holding with a barking laugh. He lifted up onto his toes, wrapping his arms around Sander’s neck, and hugged him tightly. “I love you too.”

Sander smiled into the hair at the nape of his neck and squeezed his waist. “Don’t get me wrong. I fully intend to bitch and moan the whole way through. You’re not getting off easy, but don’t for a second think that I’m not doing this because I want to.”

Kissing his neck, he added, “I have to think about your safety too. I want you to come home to me, which means you have to be focused. I don’t want you to get distracted because you’re worrying about me.”

Robbe nuzzled his nose deeper into Sander’s neck and said, “Excellent point. 10 points to Gryffindor.”

Sander pulled back, appalled. “You can’t seriously think I’m a Gryffindor?”

“No, but we all know that no matter what, Dumbledore always gives the points to Gryffindor, so…”

“True, true,” Sander responded, and then he caught Robbe’s eye, and they both started cackling, falling into one another again, this time holding on to keep from losing their balance.

“Well, that conversation went from a relationship defining level of serious to nerdy really fast,” Robbe joked.

“If we can’t laugh and nerd out together, what’s the point?” Sander asked. “We have to talk about something when we’re not kissing, and I’m not particularly fond of talking about demons and weapons. You have Jens for that. Music, art, and books, however, I can handle.”

“If you’re so fond of books, I’ll have to introduce you to the Institute library. It’s probably my other favorite room.”

Sander pulled Robbe back towards him, pressing their hips together and swaying slightly. “I still haven’t seen my favorite room yet.”

“Not so fast, Faerie boy. We’re not done yet.”

Sander groaned. “C’mon. We’ve been here forever already.”

“I still want to work on some hand-to-hand defense moves, like what to do if someone attacks you. But first, you said your dad taught you to box. I want you to show me what you know already.”

“Ok!” Sander said, rubbing his hands together. “I finally get to touch you.” Robbe just rolled his eyes.

Sander was secretly looking forward to this part and not just because it would involve touching Robbe. He was much more comfortable with his fists than with weapons. Granted, Robbe’s superior skills were probably about to wipe out any confidence he had. 

“All right, let’s start with shadow boxing. I just want to watch for a bit, and then we’ll grab gloves and mitts and work on your technique.”

“Sure.”

Sander closed his eyes for a second and took a big breath. He started bouncing on his toes and began a punching combination his father had drilled into him. He jabbed and crossed, bobbed and weaved and stayed light on his feet. 

“Can you show me that leading with the other hand?” Robbe asked.

Sander switched his feet and ran through the sequence on the other side. 

“Good, really good. You have great form already. We need to work on speed and adding in some other fighting styles to give you range. Let’s grab those gloves.”

Robbe walked to a cabinet and pulled out boxing gloves and focus mitts. He handed the gloves to Sander and adopted a bracing stance facing him.

Together they went through the punches, adding knees and kicks, and familiarizing Sander with some new techniques. Unlike the sword, he was able to pick up the new skills more easily, and he felt less ridiculous. They danced around the training room actually enjoying themselves, teasing and goading one another, and it was Robbe who finally called it to a stop after nearly thirty minutes. 

“Hey. I know this is fun, but it’s getting late; and we have one more thing left. Why don’t you grab some water while I get set up?”

“Set up?” Sander wondered out loud, but he heeded Robbe’s advice and walked to the table for a drink.

Meanwhile, Robbe pulled out the thick mat Sander had laid and added several others from a closet. When he was done, there was a large, padded area in the middle of the room.

“What’s the plan?” Sander asked.

“Self-defense. I want to teach you some basic self-defense moves.”

“What? Do you expect a demon to attack me from behind? Fending off tentacles and arms are very different.”

Robbe smiled. “You’re not wrong, but who’s to say only a demon will attack you? You could get mugged.”

“Hmmm. You and your Shadowhunter paranoia,” he said skeptically.

“All right,” he blushed a little. “Just get over here. You can touch me now,” Robbe flirted, dragging his gaze up and down Sander’s body.

Sander grinned. This was going to be fun. “Ok, tell me what to do.”

Robbe first demonstrated the attack, then the defense. Then he pretended to attack while talking Sander through the steps. The first few times were awkward and slow, but once he got the hang of it, Sander started to enjoy wriggling out of Robbe’s grasp, throwing him to the ground, and having his arms squeeze tight around him. They worked on frontal attacks as well as those from the side and behind. 

There was something about slamming Robbe into the mat that really improved Sander’s mood. Robbe was so small and yet so strong. The fact that he was letting Sander throw him around when he could easily take him out was exhilarating. Whenever Robbe or both of them hit the mat, he couldn’t help being reminded of falling into bed. The whole experience was a little erotic. 

After a particularly rough grab and flip, Sander landed on Robbe, pushing his shoulders down, his shins pressing into Robbe’s thighs. Breathing heavily he looked at Robbe, noticing that his lips were parted, also breathing hard, and that his eyes had become deep, brown pools of desire pointed directly at Sander.

“I may,” he breathed, “have made up that line about you getting mugged. I needed an excuse...”

“Is that so?” Sander whispered, slowly stretching his legs out, dragging his shins down the length of Robbe’s legs, keeping contact the whole way. Eventually, he was stretched out full length on top of Robbe, and he dropped to his elbows, framing Robbe’s face with his upper arms. “And why might you have done that?” he asked seductively, hovering his lips over Robbe’s.

Robbe’s lips opened even more, his chin tilting upwards, his eyes half-lidded. When he didn’t get the kiss he was clearly begging for, he whined a little and answered, “Because you’re so freaking hot!”

Sander lowered his face an inch and brushed a butterfly kiss across his lips. When he pulled away, Robbe unsuccessfully tried to follow. Sander shook his head playfully. “Is that all?”

Robbe whined again, shifting his hips a little, but he answered, “You’ve been driving me crazy all day, but I was able to control myself. I don’t want to anymore.”

“Hmmm?” He kissed Robbe’s upper lip. “So you were ogling me while I was being tortured?” He kissed Robbe’s bottom lip. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re even hotter when you train. Your hair turned green when you were frustrated and the purple peeked out when you got turned on. I kept getting distracted watching you breath heavily. It’s intoxicating.”

“You know what else is intoxicating?”

Robbe gave him a blank look.

“You.” And Sander finally lowered his open mouth to Robbe’s. He began with soft kisses, continuing to tease Robbe by never fully kissing him or using his tongue. 

Robbe eventually had enough and used his Shadowhunter strength to take control of the situation. He wrapped his arms around Sander’s shoulders, curling his fingers into his dark purple hair, and bending his right knee, he pushed against the ground, flipping them over. Once he was on top, he furiously attacked Sander’s lips, face, and neck, kissing and biting whatever he could reach. In between kisses he murmured unintelligible words of love and lust.

Two could play at that game, Sander thought, and he flipped them back over, this time slotting his knee between Robbe’s legs, his hips pressing down into Robbe’s. He went straight for Robbe’s neck, licking and kissing the runes that spread from his ear down to his shoulder. His tongue and lips followed another across his collarbone to reach the runes on the other side. 

Robbe let out a quiet moan and wrapped his legs around Sander’s waist and pulled his lips back up for a kiss. He then groaned, releasing his legs, and tried to escape from underneath Sander. Panting, he said, “We have to get upstairs.”

“Probably,” he murmured while still kissing Robbe.

“No, we need to go now.” He bent his right knee, flipped them back over, and then pushed himself up to standing. Looking down at Sander, he said, “Someone else has the room booked, and you and I have a date with a shower.”

“We do?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “I still haven’t seen my favorite room.”

Robbe helped Sander up, pulling him into his chest. He made a show of sniffing his neck. “We do.” He grinned. “You’re kind of ripe. You need a shower.”

“Rude. Are you trying to tell me that you are not attracted to my stench?” Sander said, pretending to be offended.

Dropping his forehead on Sander’s chest and giggling a little, Robbe said, “I am attracted to all of you, as you very well know. I will make out with you any time, anywhere, but,” and he looked up, waving his pointer finger up and down at Sander’s chest, “you are not getting into my bed smelling like that! I have to draw the line somewhere. Standards, you know.” He smirked and then raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, don’t you want to shower with me?”

“Uuugh, stop logic-ing me, and of course I wanna shower with you, idiot. I knew I stank hours ago. You’ve only been near me for the last bit. Imagine how I feel.”

Robbe rolled his eyes, stood on his tiptoes, and kissed Sander’s lips. He then wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug. “I still think you’re hot,” he whispered into his chest.

“Oooh,” gasped Sander, feeling a sudden sharp pain in his back where Robbe’s hands were.

Robbe released him and stepped back, asking, “Wha--? What is it?”

“Ooh, uh, just a tender spot, I think. My muscles hate me, and I’m going to develop some very colorful bruises.”

“Anything serious? I wish I could give you an _iratze_.”

“Nah, though technically you’re responsible for all of them.” He winked . “Do you feel guilty yet?”

Robbe fisted his hand in Sander’s shirt and pulled him in close, asking, “Do you want me to kiss your boo-boos all better?” the lustful look in his eyes belying the joking tone in his voice. 

Sander’s hair flickered to an even darker purple. “I think we could start there, and I may also have a few suggestions.” He grabbed Robbe’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Lead the way.”

\---

Sander kept his promise and trained regularly with both Robbe and Jens, and he made progress. Did he honestly want to fight anyone or anything? No. Did he appreciate the way Robbe’s eyes lingered on his new muscles? Yes, yes he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! If you know anything about weapons or fighting, I apologize. I made it all up. :)
> 
> Tumblr:  
> @if-music-be-the-food-of-love


	4. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a talk with Jens, Sander begins to question everything he understands about their relationship. Robbe has to talk him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some cursing. Dunno if that needs a warning.

Friday 13:11

Jens: I know you’re meeting Robbe tonight. 

Jens: Can we meet up beforehand?

Sander: Um, sure.

Jens: When are you meeting Robbe?

Sander: 18:00

Jens: How about 17:30?

Jens: Are you picking him up at the Institute?

Sander: Yes

Jens: Ok. Let’s meet at that cafe at 17:30.

Sander: Sure. See you then.

Sander was a little nervous and perplexed as he waited for Jens. He was lounging at a small, circular table just outside the cafe, trying to look nonchalant, but his insides were jumpy. Butterflies kept trying to crawl out. He couldn’t help wondering why Jens would want to see him alone without Robbe. 

They’d hung out but always with Robbe as a barrier, and while Jens hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy, he wasn’t hostile or rude. Robbe said that was just his personality. Sander had assumed they’d eventually become friends, and if he was honest with himself, he really had no reason to be worried now. 

It was just...Jens was Robbe’s _Parabatai_ , which meant he was his boyfriend’s best friend, practically a brother, a person who could heavily influence Robbe and his decisions. Making sure he was on good terms with Jens was a necessity, as Robbe and Jens were a package deal.

“Hey,” a voice said.

Sander, so preoccupied with his thoughts, hadn’t noticed Jens come up in front of him. 

“Hey,” he replied. “Wanna have a seat, or do you want to go inside?”

“Nah,” he said, “out here is fine.” Jens pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down facing Sander.

Sander turned his whole body, putting his hands together between his knees, and said, “Ok, so what’s up?”

Jens crossed his arms and leaned forward onto the table. He didn’t look directly at Sander, and Sander thought he almost looked embarrassed or uncomfortable.

“Well...ok...so…” he trailed off. “The thing is...this is going to be hard for me...Robbe doesn’t have anyone else to do it...and I’d rather not, but I’m his Parabatai.” He looked straight at Sander, “We need to talk. Well, we need to have _the_ talk.”

“Ummm,” Sander felt really confused now. “ _The_ talk? Jens, dude, I’m 18, and you know Robbe and I have already…”

"Ugh, by the Angel, no. NO. Not that talk. Yuck. Uuugghhh! Why is this so hard and awkward?”

“Jens,” Sander said, “I am not following you. What is going on, and what is so difficult to talk about?”

Jens closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I want to talk about you and Robbe. You’ve been together a few months now--”

“Ooooh,” Sander interrupted. He was starting to see where this might be going, but he didn’t want to make it too easy on Jens. He put his elbows on the table, clasped his hands, and rested his chin on his knuckles. “You want to talk about feelings?”

“Well, yes,” Jens replied, flustered, leaning back in his chair, his hands hanging by his sides, “but--”

Smirking, Sander started, “I can easily tell you how I feel about Robbe. He’s like the sun, exuding warmth and light.” Deciding to ham it up a bit, he deepened his voice and dramatically recited:

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 

Who is already sick and pale with grief

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she--”

He paused, pretending to be thoughtful. “Well, not she, really. Robbe’s not a maid, so maybe Juliet is not the best--”

“STOP!” yelled Jens holding up his hand. “Stop talking. Please. Stop.” 

Sander smiled smugly but stopped talking.

Jens leaned forward again, elbows on the table, rubbing his face with his hands. Through his fingers, Sander heard a muffled, “Feelings, yes, but we need to talk about your intentions.”

“Wait,” Sander interrupted again, almost guiltily. “Wait, _the_ talk. _The_ talk you’re talking about is the scary dad, what are your intentions towards my daughter, talk?” He couldn’t help it. He laughed. The snort burst out of him involuntarily, and he couldn’t control his giggles for a few seconds. “Isn’t it a little soon? It’s not like Robbe is expecting a proposal. Wait,” Sander paused, trying to look genuinely worried, and asked, “Is he?” But he couldn’t keep a straight face and started chuckling again.

Jens looked pleadingly at Sander, and Sander decided to put him out of his misery. He sobered up and said, “Ok, Jens. Clearly this is important to you. Explain so that I can understand.”

“Like I said,” he started, playing with his hands nervously. “I don’t want to do this, and I feel super awkward about it. But I feel like we have to talk about it before things get too serious.”

“O-k,” Sander drew out, leaning forward again.

The words tumbled out of Jens. “You’re not very old, Sander, and you’re half human. Shadowhunter relationships aren’t like Mundane or Fey ones. We don’t date, really. When we fall in love, we fall in love fast and hard. We fall in love young. We commit young. It usually only happens once. If you want to be with a Shadowhunter, you have to ask yourself how you feel about intense, life-long, monogamous relationships.” 

“Oh,” Sander mouthed.

“Yeah,” Jens breathed. “Mundanes date a lot, I think, and marry much later. Faeries take on lovers, fool around, and play games, or so I’ve heard. Sorry,” he looked at Sander. “No offense.”

“No, you’re right. Monogamy is not expected or prized by the Fey.”

“I just…” Jens’s words seem to come easier now that he’d gotten started. “I need you to understand what you’re getting yourself into. I can see how Robbe feels about you, and he’s my _Parabatai_. I’d do anything for him. I’m afraid he won’t recover if...you leave. I can’t change how you feel about him or how he feels about you, but I can make sure that you understand the stakes. I want to protect Robbe. He will love you completely and unreservedly his whole life, and he will spend every waking moment wanting to protect you. If you’re not into that kind of relationship, I ask that you consider Robbe’s well-being and back out now before it’s too late.”

Sander remained silent, shocked.

Looking earnestly at Sander, Jens added, “I’m not trying to scare you off. Honestly, I think you’re good for Robbe, and you make him happy, which is what I care about most. I’m just concerned that you might want or expect different things. All I ask is that you think about it.”

With that, Jens stood. He strode around the table and gripped Sander’s shoulder with his hand, giving it a shake. He nodded at Sander, saying, “I hope to see you around,” and left.

Sander sat unmoving. His mind raced. He’d considered the dangerous aspects of dating a Shadowhunter before--demons attacking, disappearing to fight demons, being left behind, ichor all over the rug, well, everything...Robbe not coming home one day--but he had not considered this aspect of dating a Shadowhunter. 

How Mundane was he? How Fey? Did any of this matter? Did he want to date other people before settling down? Did he want to settle down? What exactly is settling down? Do Shadowhunters settle down? 

Did he want to commit to anyone at 18? Did he honestly think he could love anyone but Robbe? Did he want anyone but Robbe? Had he even considered an open relationship? What did he want? Until Jens, none of these questions had mattered or even occurred to him.

So far, only one answer bothered him. Loving and being only with Robbe was easy. Choosing Robbe was easy. Committing permanently to Robbe at 18 after only a few months together seemed utterly illogical. 

It went against the grain of his Fey and Mundane upbringing. The idea of an entire life together with Robbe wasn’t the problem. That actually sounded amazing. It was the 18 part. He felt too young. Too young to have to make such a big decision. Too young to be responsible for such an important decision. How did Shadowhunters do this? Why? Was it a conscious choice? Did they just wake up one day at 17 and think I’m going to fall in love and marry such and such person? Or did it just happen? 

If Shadowhunter relationships were so intense so early, what was the driving force? Necessity? The likelihood of an early death? Their overall recklessness about life in general? A need to have someone to come home to?

Sander’s thoughts were scrambled, and it felt like his brain might explode from everything swirling around in his head. The only constant was that he knew he loved Robbe. Completely. Unconditionally.

"Hey.”

For the second time that evening, Sander was caught off-guard, lost in his thoughts. He looked up at his favorite face in the whole world. Robbe was smiling broadly at him, his brown eyes glowing with happiness. He was dressed in jeans, a dark green hoodie, and an unzipped brown jacket, hands tucked into the hoodie’s pocket. Sander could see a glamoured seraph blade strapped to his thigh and several knives tucked into his boots.

Smiling at his always-working Shadowhunter, Sander reached a hand into Robbe’s front pocket, clasped their fingers together, and pulled him down into his lap. Robbe grinned and wrapped his free arm around Sander’s neck. They kissed, perhaps a little too long and a little too passionately for such a public place. Sander just needed to feel grounded, like his world hadn’t just shifted, and the best way to do that was to touch Robbe, to feel his love for him. 

Finally pulling away, Sander leaned his head against Robbe’s chest and closed his eyes. He could feel Robbe’s heartbeat. Its steadiness was reassuring, another thing to keep him grounded.

“Hey again,” Robbe said quietly, nuzzling his face in Sander’s hair.

“I missed you,” was all Sander could reply.

A giggle escaped Robbe’s mouth, and he hugged Sander a little tighter. “We saw each other yesterday, you know.” A little more seriously, though, he kissed Sander’s hair and then dropped his lips to his ear, whispering, “I missed you too.” 

Sander sighed, rubbing his forehead on Robbe’s chest for a second. Then, sitting up taller, he squeezed Robbe’s hand and said, “Hey, let’s get going. I’m sure the cafe owner doesn’t want us making out here if we’re not buying anything.”

An hour or so later, Sander and Robbe were sitting side by side on a park bench near the Scheldt, eating Kebab and sharing a cone of fries.

“You’ll never believe the demon nest Jens and I found yesterday,” Robbe was saying. “We’d heard that there were Cerberus demons hiding out in an old warehouse, but we weren’t prepared for a nest of about thirty of them. We had to call for backup, and by the time we were done, Jens was covered in so much ichor, his gear was full of holes.” Robbe laughed, nearly choking on the fry he’d just put in his mouth.

“Did your gear have any holes?” Sander asked flirtatiously, bumping Robbe with his shoulder.

Robbe poked his nose with a fry. “No, unlike Jens, I did not rush headlong into the middle of five of them and then slice them up at the same time. The ichor spattered everywhere, and he was stuck.”

Sander smiled and bumped him again with his shoulder. “I’m just glad you were all ok.”

“Me too. Jens complained the whole way home, though,” Robbe said, placing his right leg over Sander’s left. “He kept asking for more _iratzes_.”

“Hmmm,” Sander said distractedly as he placed his left hand on Robbe’s leg, giving it a quick squeeze. 

They then sat in silence for several minutes, eating and staring at the river and the handful of people walking by.

Sander’s thoughts were still muddled. He felt like he was talking to Robbe through a thick barrier. Everything was slow and lethargic, and he was struggling to pay attention. He was trying to control his thoughts, but they kept returning to his conversation with Jens and the ramifications of that conversation. 

A serious, forever relationship, and he had to decide soon. Then a new thought entered his head. He frowned, worry lines appearing around his eyes. Was he good enough for Robbe to spend his life with? Knowing how much he loved him, would he want Robbe tied to someone like him? Someone who didn’t really belong anywhere? Someone who may or may not have an extended life? Someone who had at least some loyalty to the Unseelie court? Someone who may or may not become more Fey over time?

Now, Sander was less worried about his own fears of committing so young and was more worried about messing up Robbe’s life. Freaking Jens! He’d been happy. So happy. So very happy. Now, everything was turned upside down.

“Hey,” a quiet voice said. “Your hair is grey. What does that mean?” A calloused but soft hand cupped the side of his face. “Baby. You’ve been off all evening. Are you ready to tell me what’s wrong?”

Sander closed his eyes and leaned into Robbe’s hand. He felt soft lips lightly press against his, and then Robbe kissed the corner of his mouth, his other cheek, his eyelids, and finally his forehead. Then he pressed their foreheads together and waited.

Sander wasn’t sure what to do. Should he share Jens’s conversation with Robbe? Should he mention his fears? Should they discuss their future together? 

It was this last thought that put Sander into action. Robbe should have a say in his future. Any major decisions should be made together. For a second, Sander felt relief. He didn’t have to do this on his own. Jens made it seem like the choice was his, but it wasn’t. He needed to discuss it with Robbe. 

Realizing that, he became nervous again. What if they chose wrong, or what if it didn’t go the way he wanted it to? And, honestly, what way was that? 

Sander opened his eyes. He kissed Robbe’s forehead, removed his leg, and stood up. Robbe looked at him questioningly, but he didn’t move. 

Sander started pacing, shifting around, gesticulating with his arms as he spoke. “Your _Parabatai_ came to talk to me earlier today.” 

Robbe made to interrupt, but Sander cut him off with his hand. “Please, let me get this out first.” He paused and then started again, still pacing, “He mentioned the difference between Mundane, Fey, and Shadowhunter relationships, that essentially Shadowhunters choose their mates very quickly while they are young. He hinted that I needed to decide how serious I am about you now because if I screw it up, I could ruin your chances of love forever. He wanted me to think about whether I was willing to commit myself to you now.”

Sander paused again, but he held up his hand again when he saw Robbe open his mouth. “Just a little more. I’d thought about other ways our relationship might be difficult, but I hadn’t considered that one. I started to get all wound up over making important decisions at 18, about being forced to decide forever so soon. Then I worried that I wasn’t good enough for you. That I’d ruin your life, and you’d regret being with me. I’ve just had so many thoughts swirling around in my head that I haven’t thought straight since Jens left. The only time I feel somewhat normal is when you’re touching me.”

Robbe stood up, reaching his hands out to grasp Sander’s. His grip was firm, and he pulled Sander’s hands up to his face and kissed his knuckles. “May I?” he asked.

Sander nodded as he pulled Robbe closer, their hands clasped between them.

“Ok, first, I can tell my _Parabatai_ had the best of intentions, but he definitely screwed that up.”

“He did? Is what he said wrong?” asked Sander.

“No, Baby. What he said is true for the most part. Shadowhunters are known throughout Downworld for having strangely intense, committed relationships at a very young age. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s our Angel blood. Maybe it’s the fact that we often die young. Maybe it’s just our cultural normal, I don’t know. But--”

“But?”

“But, to say that you have to commit to me now because I’ll never be able to love again is a bit of a stretch. There are plenty of cases of Shadowhunters falling in love more than once. That’s a bit of an extreme interpretation even for Jens.”

“O-k. So you’re saying I won’t ruin your life if I screw up.”

“Saaaander,” Robbe giggled a little as he drew out Sander’s name. “That’s not possible. You’ve made my life so much better. But--”

“But…” Sander repeated, this time smiling a little.

“But, just because I could fall in love again doesn’t mean that I want to.”

“Oh.” Something inside Sander released, and he felt the tension he’d been carrying melt away. Robbe’s quiet surety was all he really needed. “I don’t want to fall in love again either. Well, unless it’s with you every day.”

“Ugh, so cheesy,” Robbe responded, rolling his eyes, but he wrapped his arms around Sander’s neck and hugged him close. Sander reached his arms around Robbe’s shoulders, clasping his elbows and squeezing tightly. He turned his face to nuzzle Robbe’s ear and lightly kiss his temple. 

“Robbe.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Can we talk about it, I mean the future, our future?”

“Sure,” Robbe said, starting to pull away.

“No, no,” Sander exclaimed, pulling him back. “Can we talk like this? I think better when you’re holding me.”

Lifting his head to look Sander in the eyes, Robbe grinned and kissed his nose, then nodded and hugged him close again. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Well...erm...do you have expectations? Like, well, like what Jens said. Are we already married in your head?” He laughed nervously at how ridiculous the question sounded.

“Baby,” Robbe said softly. “Forget Jens. Forget everything he said. It’s you and me. No one else. Who cares about what usually happens? They aren’t us, and I like being us. Here. Let me ask you some questions again.”

Sander nodded into Robbe’s hair with a small smile. Questions were kind of their thing. “Ok.”

“Do you love me right now?”

“Of course, Angel.”

Sander felt Robbe smile against his neck. “And I love you. Do you know anyone who can see the future?”

Burrowing into his hair a little more, he said, “No.”

“Do you need to know what the future brings to be happy right now?”

“I guess not, but don’t you worry? Don’t you wonder if I’m not the best choice for you?”

“Sander,” he said, running his fingers through Sander’s hair. “I worry about things like demons sneaking into your bedroom at night or attacking me on the street when I’m unarmed. I’ve never questioned my love for you. Even before we officially met, you were the one constant in my life. I could watch you from afar and know that things were right with the world because you were in it. Now it’s even better because I can kiss you and come home to you.”

Sander kissed Robbe’s ear and hugged him a little tighter. “Now who’s being cheesy? But, don’t you worry that my Faerie blood will lead me to be unfaithful, or that the Unseelie king will ask me to do something heinous?”

“Sander,” he groaned. Looking down at his watch, he added, “I’ll entertain those questions for exactly ten seconds. I know I haven’t really known you that long, but do you honestly believe you are capable of those things? Ask yourself, deep down. Is that who I am? Am I in control of my own decisions, or am I easily influenced by others? I think I know the answer to those questions. Ten seconds over.” He then pretended to check his watch.

“Ok, Ok. Point taken. It’s out of character.”

At that, Robbe laughed pulling his head back to look at Sander again. “You think? You’re hard-headed and stubborn, and considering how possessive you can be…”

“Me?” interrupted Sander incredulously. “Whatever, Koala-boy.” 

Robbe’s giggle was music to Sander’s ears. “I may be a koala, but you are no better. Prove me wrong.”

Sander’s silence was all Robbe needed for confirmation. “See?”

“Fine.” Sander pouted.

Releasing his arms from Sander’s neck, he put them on either side of his face, holding him softly. “How about we try this. Let’s just take it one day at a time, enjoying what we have right now. Let’s not worry about you being Fey or me being a Shadowhunter. Forget the future. I’m sure we’ll have problems, but we’ll overcome those obstacles together. As a team. Let’s just be two boys in love and see where it takes us. Can we do that?”

“Yeah, we can do that. 100%.”

Robbe then pulled Sander’s face down to his, and they shared their sweetest, softest kiss yet. It made Sander’s heart ache with love for this wonderful boy. He felt cherished. Important. Heard. Supported. He felt loved, completely.

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?” he said when they came up for air. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re obsessed with me, I know,” Robbe said in mock seriousness, but he couldn’t hold it for long. His face broke into a broad grin, and he swooped his head to the side. “C’mon, let’s get back to the Institute. Can you stay tonight?”

“Definitely,” Sander replied enthusiastically, throwing an arm over Robbe’s shoulders as Robbe’s arm snaked around his waist. 

*** Bonus ***

Robbe quietly closed the door behind him. Sander had just fallen asleep, and he didn’t want to wake him. Or really, he didn’t want him to know he’d left. Sander had experienced enough anxiety and worry for one day. Thinking of him waking up alone made Robbe feel guilty, but there was something he had to do.

Quickly he padded down the corridor in his bare feet, stopping at the last room on the right. Without knocking, he opened the door, and ascertaining that Jens was both asleep and alone, he ran towards the bed and jumped on him.

Jens popped up immediately, yelling, and Robbe easily stopped the knife he’d grabbed automatically. “Put that down, idiot. It’s me.” He rolled to the side, sitting next to Jens on the bed.

“What the hell, Robbe? What time is it?”

“I don’t fucking care, and honestly you’re lucky I’m not strangling you right now because I want to. I really want to. Tomorrow when we train your face is a punching bag, and I’m not even kidding. What the hell were you thinking talking to Sander today?”

“Wha-- What?” 

“What? What do you mean, ‘What?’ You don’t remember sending my boyfriend into an insecurity spiral earlier today? Did trying to ruin my relationship not even register on the ‘I did something today’ meter?”

“Oh, yeah, that. Insecurity spiral? What?” Jens looked confused. “He was totally chill.”

“Of course, he was chill, you ass. He waited until after you left to have a complete meltdown. I will say it didn’t get as far as me convincing him to not break up with me, so it could have been worse; but man you could have really messed things up. If you want to play the role of my dad, couldn’t you wait until he knocks me up or proposes or something?”

“Ok, now you’re just being ridiculous. He can’t knock you up.”

“Uuuugh,” Robbe groaned, “Jens, that’s not the point. The point is you’re not my dad. You’re my _Parabatai_. Only the Angel knows why I love you, but I do. But, you can’t replace my father.” As Robbe spoke, the exasperation slowly left his voice until the last words were spoken almost reflectively.

“Robbe,” Jens looked taken aback. “I know that. I do. I just worry about you.”

“I know that too. Why do you think I’m not strangling you right now? I know you worry about me being on my own without parents to look out for me. I know that you spoke with Sander today because you love me, you great big idiot. And--” 

Just to make sure he had his attention, he shoved Jens hard but not as hard as he wanted. “I forgive you. Just...just don’t do that again. Ever. Keep your nose out of my relationship. I’ve been in love with him for over a year. I finally got him, and barely a few months in, you have him questioning whether he’s good enough for me. Jens,” he added firmly, “I get to decide who’s good enough for me. I get to decide the nature of my relationship. Not the Institute. Not the Shadowhunters or Downworlders. And not you.”

Jens lowered his eyes, looking dutifully chastised. “I’m sorry, Robbe. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Of course you weren’t. You’re an idiot, but you’re a loyal idiot. So there’s that.” He shoved Jens again, but this time it was playful, signalling that everything was ok between them. Jens visibly relaxed.

“Is he ok?” Jens asked quietly.

“He is now. We had a long talk, which in the long run was probably good, and everything is as good or better between us. But Jens,” Robbe somehow looked smaller, “I was scared.”

Jens stayed silent but gave him a questioning look.

“I like him. I mean, I love him, but more than that, I really like him. He’s the best person I’ve ever met. I thought I loved him when it was just a crush, but now that I know him he’s so much better and more amazing than anything my imagination could create. I don’t want to lose him, and yet the irony of this is that I know you talked to him out of the fear of what I’d do or how I’d act if I lost him.” 

Robbe paused for a breath, then continued, “So here’s the deal. I promise not to do anything rash or stupid if it doesn’t work out, and you have to fully accept Sander as he is. He’s my boyfriend, he’s not going anywhere, and he’s not a Shadowhunter. You have to accept the fact that he might not act the way you expect and that’s ok. You’re the closest thing to family I have, and if I have anything to say about it, Sander is going to become my family. So play nice.”

“Robbe, we are family. Now who’s being an idiot?” Jens asked with a grin.

“Ok, fine. Do you agree, though?”

“Yes, yes," Jens said, waving his hand around dismissively. “I’d be nice to a troll if you had feelings for it.”

“Ugh!” Robbe groaned out in frustration. “You are being deliberately obtuse.”

Jens laughed. “Yes, yes. Of course. I agree. Now leave me alone. Some of us need our beauty rest, and I’m pretty sure someone misses you.”

Robbe blushed a little but didn’t deny it. He hopped off the bed and walked to the door. As he left, he peeked back inside, and trying to sound menacing, he said, “You’re not off the hook. Tomorrow. Training. Watch yourself. My fist. Your face.” And with a slightly evil grin, he closed the door. 

In less than a minute, he was crawling back in bed beside Sander, curling himself into his side and resting his head on his shoulder. 

In a sleepy voice, Sander said, “Is Jens still pretty?”

Robbe let out a breathy giggle. “For now. I make no promises about tomorrow.”

Sander reached an arm over and pulled Robbe more on top of him. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

“Always,” Robbe whispered in his ear before kissing his cheek. “I’ll always come back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!!
> 
> This chapter was born out of the fact that I personally don't jive with the ridiculously young, instant soulmate, unhealthy, possessive, self-loathing, needlessly intense relationships that are a big part of the Shadowhunters books. If someone said this to me, I would react way worse than Sander. I flat out panicked when my high school boyfriend mentioned marriage...it didn't last. 
> 
> tumblr: @if-music-be-the-food-of-love


	5. Famous Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Antwerp Institute is expecting a very important visitor -- Alec Lightwood. Robbe can barely contain his excitement, and Sander spends the day with a few unexpected visitors and learns a few things about himself. There might be glitter. Lots of glitter. Malec are in Antwerp!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out how to include a Malec crossover. I hope you enjoy the introduction of two of my favorite characters in all of (modern) fiction. As always, this is the world of the books, not the TV show, so there may be a few surprises for those of you that haven't read them. Alec and Magnus are married and have adopted two children, and Alec is the Consul. There are no spoilers for The Lost Book of the White. Please enjoy.

Famous Visitors

“We have to get up.”

“I don’t want to get up,” Sander mumbled, rolling to his side, swinging his leg across Robbe’s hips, and wrapping an arm tighter over his chest.

“Even so. We have to get up. We have visitors today.”

Sander just closed his eyes and nuzzled Robbe’s neck, mumbling unintelligibly.

“C’mon, baby,” Robbe added softly, turning to kiss Sander’s forehead. “It’s a big day for the Institute. The Consul is coming.”

“I know,” Sander grumbled. “That’s why I want to stay in bed. Well, that, and I’m still sleepy, and you’re comfy.” As he spoke, he hooked his heel around Robbe’s hip and pulled him closer, rolling his body half on top of him. “See. This is nice,” still nuzzling his neck. “Let’s stay here.”

“This _is_ nice, but it doesn’t change the fact that we have to get up. I’m expected to meet him when he arrives, and I want you to be there. I think he’ll like you.”

“Alec Lightwood is not going to be impressed by your Faerie boyfriend.”

“Wait. Are you nervous?” Robbe asked, sitting up slightly and turning towards Sander.

“Hmpf,” he intoned, avoiding Robbe’s gaze.

“You are. Why? You’re amazing. I’m sure he’ll love you.”

“Robbe, your idol won’t even notice me. I’m nobody. Anyway, I have nothing against Alec. I’m just a little wary of the Law. Remember how long it took me to agree to visit the Institute, and this place still gives me the creeps when you’re not around. It’s not been easy being Fey the last few years.”

Robbe lay back down and turned his whole body to face him. “Hey, look at me,” and he shuffled further down to match Sander’s eyeline. He put a finger under his chin, lifting it up, and then grabbing his jaw, he pulled him in for a quick kiss. “First, you’re not nobody. You’re my somebody. My everything, so don’t even go there. And second,” his sincere eyes bore into Sander’s, “If you don’t want to stick around this morning, I’ll understand. I’d like you to be here, but you don’t have to. It’s your choice. But, don’t you want to meet the man who made it possible for us to get married?”

Sander lifted an eyebrow, smirking, “You proposing?”

Robbe giggled nervously and then his whole body seemed to collapse inward. Flustered, he squeaked out, “Maybe. Not today. No. Maybe. I mean--”

This time Sander grasped Robbe’s jaw and pulled him in for a kiss. “Cutie, I was joking. I’m sorry. It was too soon to make that joke. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He ran his knuckles across Robbe’s cheek and tried to reassure him with his eyes.

Sander felt guilty, remembering his freak out over Jens insinuating that they needed to marry or break up. Robbe was really sensitive now about not being too Shadowhunter intense about their relationship--too sensitive in Sander’s opinion. He’d started second guessing himself, holding back, and Sander felt horrible about it. It wasn’t fair of him to joke about marriage when he knew Robbe would interpret it as him wanting to get married because he’s a Shadowhunter. He’d think he was pushing Sander.

“It’s ok,” Robbe said quietly.

“No, Robbe. It’s not. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t joke about that.” He opened his palm, placing it on Robbe’s cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “I love you. I hope we get married someday.”

Robbe’s eyes brightened, his eyebrows lifting, “Really?”

“What do you mean, really? Of course, you idiot, but we have plenty of time; and lots of fun to be had along the way.”

Robbe’s lips turned up into a grin. “Yes, lots of fun.”

“And on that note, I guess I should stick around to meet the famous Alec.”

“Good.” Robbe kissed the tip of his nose. “Then time to get up.”

Sander groaned, pushing Robbe over and flopping completely on top of him. Face in the pillow, he muffled, “You’re still comfy.”

“Uuuugh, you great lump,” Robbe growled, laughing as he pushed Sander off. Sander tried holding on tightly with his legs and fingers, but eventually Robbe used his feet and pushed him to the other side of the bed. 

Robbe stood. Picking up a pillow, he looked at the pile of blankets called Sander and said, “I’m taking a shower. You can wallow here or join me.” And then he threw the pillow at Sander and headed to the bathroom.

It took Sander ten whole seconds to follow him because he was so tangled in the blankets. 

Sander stood next to Robbe near the entrance of the Sanctuary, slightly to the left and behind Jens and his parents. Alec Lightwood was supposed to arrive via portal in a few minutes, and the entire Enclave was there to meet him, including several Downworlders like Sander.

Admittedly, Sander was nervous. Alec was a legend. A freaking LEGEND. He had saved the world from Jonathan Morganstern and traveled to Edom. He literally went to Hell to save his Warlock boyfriend, Magnus Bane. He was the first Shadowhunter to officially come out, and he and Magnus lived openly together, even adopting two orphaned children. He was also the first Shadowhunter to actively advocate for Downworlders and started the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance. Then, in a surprise move, when the Clave split into factions, he became the youngest Consul ever, and using his power, he ended the Cold Peace and made marriage to Downworlders legal and recognized by the Clave. 

If Sander was honest with himself, he was probably a bigger fan of Alec than Robbe even though he’d joked about him being Robbe’s idol. Without Alec, everything they had wouldn’t exist. Without Alec, Robbe would be in the closet, and Sander wouldn’t be welcome at the Institute. He was a true hero. And he would be arriving shortly. Sander’s palms started to sweat.

Robbe’s excitement was clear. He was bouncing on his toes with pent up energy, and when Sander gave him a nudge with his hip, he just beamed up at him and grabbed his hand. 

“This is so amazing!” he said through his teeth, unable to stop smiling.

Sander cocked his head, looking at him sideways, and raised his eyebrows. “You’re cute. Ridiculous but cute.”

“Shut up. I’m excited. It’s not every day you get to meet your hero.” And he started bouncing again.

Sander smiled at him fondly and squeezed his hand. Before he could make a joke about not embarrassing him, a bright blue light sparked in the middle of the Sanctuary, and a spinning portal appeared. A tall, dark shape emerged, but before Sander could begin to distinguish his features, he turned and reached out a hand to help two children through the portal. 

The smaller child was dark blue with curly horns, and the other was tall and lean with dark hair and a scowl. Behind the children stepped the most glamorous and sparkly person Sander had ever seen. The sun coming in from the sky lights reflected off of his many sequins. 

Magnus Bane was in the Antwerp Institute, and he had come in style, wearing fitted black jeans, shiny black dress shoes, a white t-shirt with a rainbow coffee mug embroidered on it, and a black biker jacket with hundreds of black sequins stitched into the leather. His hair was artfully combed up with purple tips, and his eyes were outlined in black eyeliner. Several rings bejeweled his right hand, but his left conspicuously contained only a gold wedding band.

Robbe let out a squeak and squeezed Sander’s hand so much it hurt. “That’s Magnus! By the Angel, I thought he was coming alone!” 

“Cutie,” Sander said, trying to remove his hand. “You’re hurting me.”

“Oh,” Robbe let go, looking bashful, “Sorry. But that’s Magnus!”

“Why don’t you say it a little louder?” Sander whispered. “I’m sure no one else here knows that.”

“Shut up,” he groaned as he elbowed Sander in the ribs. “Wow, they’re both really hot! I mean, I’d heard...” and he trailed off.

Sander turned to face him, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised. “Really? Do you need a moment?”

Robbe rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Don’t even.”

Sander smiled and rolled his eyes back at him. “You love me. I’m irresistible, I know.”

“Idiot,” Robbe mumbled. Sander’s grin widened, and he winked.

“And yes,” he whispered, “They’re very attractive.”

Robbe snorted and then grabbed Sander’s hand again in excitement. “I just can’t believe it!” 

“Do I need to go get your autograph book? Should I grab my camera?”

Robbe shoved him with his hip. “Stop making fun of me. Tell me you’re not excited.”

Sander put his hands behind his back, looked at the ceiling, and pretended to whistle. 

“See. This is a big deal!” 

He bumped Sander with his hip again, and as Sander was retaliating with his hip, he heard, “And this is our ward Robbe IJzermans.”

Sander and Robbe both looked up, mouths open. While they’d been bickering, Alec and Magnus had been greeting Jens’s parents, the heads of the Institute.

Robbe recovered first, closing his mouth, and bounding forward to shake hands with Alec and Magnus.

Alec’s dark, streamlined Shadowhunter gear created a stark contrast to Magnus’s loud outfit.

He smiled kindly at Robbe. “And who had you so distracted back there?” he asked. 

Robbe blushed and ducked his head a little, hiding a small smile. “Sander, my boyfriend,” he said quietly.

“Well, bring him up here,” Alec said, looking over at Sander. “No need to hide in the back.”

Sander took a calming breath and walked forward. He shook Alec’s hand, his grasp firm and confident, and then he reached for Magnus. Magnus gave him a questioning look as they shook, and when it was time to let go, he hesitated and held onto Sander’s hand. 

“You’re Fey?”

Sander looked into Magnus’s golden cat eyes and answered, “Half Fey, actually.”

“Hmmm. Your hair is fascinating. It radiates magic, and it’s changed colors three times since we’ve been here.”

“Wha--. Really?” Sander asked, perplexed.

Magnus smiled. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Sander scoffed. “Robbe calls it my mood ring hair.”

“Ahhh, it’s tied to your emotions. Very interesting.” He finally released Sander’s hand. “Well, Sander--”

“Drieson,” he provided.

“Sander Drieson. You are very interesting. I hope to see you again while we are here.”

Magnus gathered up the two boys, and they accompanied Alec as he greeted the rest of the Enclave, moving down the line one by one. 

In a daze, he turned to Robbe, who shoved his shoulders with his palms, dropped jaw turning into a broad grin. “That was--that was,” and unable to articulate his thoughts, he gave up and threw his arms around Sander. 

Sander held Robbe tightly, pressing his palms into his back to keep them from visibly shaking. He was just as affected as Robbe. He’d not just met Alec Lightwood. He’d met Magnus-Freaking-Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, practically the most famous person in all of Downworld, and Magnus thought he was _interesting_. Sander couldn’t control the grin spreading across his face, so he hid it in Robbe’s hair, taking a moment to process the whole experience.

Looking around a few minutes later, he could see things were calming down. He hadn’t realized how tense everyone had been while waiting for Alec to arrive. Now that the introductions were over, Sander could feel all that tension flowing out of himself and Robbe, and the rest of the room was beginning to relax as well. 

Except for Jens’s parents, he noticed. They were whispering loudly, and Sander overheard a few snippets. 

“What are we going to do?

“...didn’t know they were coming.”

“Meeting...where…”

“...kids….don’t want to be rude…how...”

Sander let go of Robbe and walked over to the Stoffels. He had a general idea of the problem. “Is there something I could do to help?” he asked. “Do you need someone to entertain the kids during the meeting?”

Jens’s parents stopped whispering and looked at Sander consideringly. Mrs. Stoffels spoke first. “Actually, it would be Magnus and the boys. We didn’t know Alec was bringing the family, so we don’t have anyone available to show them around and make them feel at home.”

“We know Magnus is capable of fending for himself,” Mr. Stoffels added, “but we’d feel guilty just leaving him to his own devices. This is the first time a Consul has ever visited the Antwerp Institute, and we want to make a good impression.”

“Sure,” Sander replied without needing to think. “I could show them around, be their tour guide. I don’t really have any plans for this afternoon. I was just going to draw.”

“That would be wonderful, if you could,” Mrs. Stoffels said, clasping her hands together. “We have refreshments set up in the hall, but it might be easier to take them to the kitchens.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Stoffels. Worse comes to worse, Magnus can magic us up some food, or we can go for a walk. It’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Sander,” she said earnestly and pulled him into a hug. After releasing him, she and her husband moved towards the rest of the Enclave, rounding people up to usher them into the meeting hall.

“Careful, Faerie boy, or you’ll end up being my parents’ favorite son.”

“Jens! Not fair. You know I’m their favorite son,” laughed Robbe.

“Only on the days I exasperate them!” Jens retorted.

“Which is every day. Therefore,” and he pointed to himself, “Favorite son.”

“Either way, if he keeps this up, my parents will adopt him, so he better be careful.”

“Do I get a say in all this?” asked Sander.

“Nope,” Both Jens and Robbe said laughing. 

Jens patted Sander on the shoulder. “I expect you’ll be invited to dinner more often now. Prepare yourself.” 

“Should I be afraid?”

Jens just shrugged his shoulders and then fluffed Robbe’s hair as he passed him on his way to the exit.

Robbe smiled and rolled his eyes simultaneously, reaching his hand into his hair to fix it.

“C’mere,” Sander said. He fixed Robbe’s unruly mass of hair as best he could. “You look perfect.” He turned Robbe around, hugging him from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. “How long do you think it will be?”

“No idea. Long, I think. If he traveled all this way and wants to meet with the whole Enclave, it must be important. Will you be ok in the Institute without me? I know how you feel about it.”

Sander kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’ll have Magnus and two rugrats to keep me from panicking. I’ll give them a tour and buy off the kids with ice cream from the kitchen. Ice cream always works, right?”

“It does for me,” Robbe said smiling, “but unfortunately, it looks like everyone is clearing out. I have to go.”

“I know,” he said softly, hugging Robbe more tightly. “Though, I think I am going to have a much more fun afternoon.”

“Probably.”

Sander gave Robbe one more squeeze and kiss on the cheek and then lightly pushed him forward. “Don’t die of boredom!” he called after his retreating back.

Robbe turned and flashed him a middle finger before walking through the exit.

“Sweet boy you’ve got there.”

Sander started. Magnus had snuck up on him.

“Actually,” Sander countered, “he is sweet. Amazing really. The absolute best--” Sander stopped, realizing he was gushing about Robbe to Magnus Bane.

Magnus just stood smiling ironically at him. The two boys were running around him in circles, the taller one chasing the blue one.

“So I hear you are going to be our guide for the day?” Magnus asked.

“Yes, I thought I’d show you around the Institute, grab some food, and then figure out our next steps together.”

“That sounds good to me. Here, Max! Rafe! Come here,” he called. The two boys zoomed over, the blue one pretending to be an airplane. “These are my sons, Max” he pointed to the little blue warlock, “and Rafe.” He gestured to the taller, more skeptical child. 

“Hi,” Max said brightly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sander, and I’m your tour guide today,” Sander said, bending down. “Do you want to have a look around?”

“Sure! Is there a playroom?”

“There’s a playroom of sorts. I prefer to think of it as a torture chamber, but most Shadowhunters think it’s a great place.”

Magnus laughed. “I can conjure toys if they don’t have any. I don’t think you’re ready to play in the training room, Max.”

“I could,” interjected Rafe poutily.

“Be that as it may, let’s aim for a less violent visit,” Magnus suggested, patting the boy on the shoulder.

“Are you guys hungry? The kitchen is actually my second favorite place here. The cook, Mads, is practically a magician.”

“Yes, I’m starving,” Max yelled, jumping up and down.

“You just ate, Blueberry, but I guess we can check it out,” Magnus agreed.

“Yes!” He pumped his fist and then looked earnestly up at Sander, blue eyes shining, “I’m always hungry.”

“Well, then, let’s get going,” Sander responded with a smile, and he led them out into the corridor heading towards the kitchens. 

Max ran around looking at everything, touching the decor, and chattering excitedly about everything. Rafe tried to look serious and mature, but it only lasted a few moments. Before long, he too was running ahead, looking around. 

Realizing he and Magnus were walking alone, Sander tried thinking of something to say, but he wasn’t sure what an ancient, famous warlock would want to talk about. He needn’t have worried.

“So, what’s your favorite room, then, at the Institute?”

Sander coughed, bringing his hand up to his mouth and turning his face away. He blushed crimson, and though he faced him again, he couldn’t meet Magnus’s eyes. 

“I see,” Magnus laughed. “Yellow. Is that embarrassment?” Eyes shifting up to look at his hair.

“Yellow? I guess so. I’m actually still learning all the different colors. I used to control it and hide it, but Robbe loves seeing it change colors. It’s actually been fun figuring the different colors out with him. Now it’s only glamoured from Mundanes.”

“I could see that being useful in a relationship, to be able to read your partner’s moods and know how to react. It gets rid of some of the guesswork. However,” and he flourished his hands and peered at Sander out of the corner of his eyes, “You are not getting out of answering the question. Your favorite room?”

Sander’s cheeks warmed again, and he took several more steps down the hall before mumbling, “Robbe’s room.”

“Of course, it is,” he winked. More seriously, he asked, “How, though, did you get assigned to babysitting duty? It’s not like you have any need to be here at the moment.”

Sander shrugged his shoulders, lifted the corner of his mouth, raised his eyebrows, and said, “I volunteered?”

“Ahh, you volunteered to escort an old man and two kids around for the day?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Sander laughed. “No really. You’re Magnus-Freaking-Bane. Who wouldn’t want to get to know you, and I honestly don’t mind kids. I haven’t got a lot of experience with them, but that’s mostly from a lack of opportunity more than a conscious choice. Anyway,” he paused, “they were desperate, and I was available.” He looked sideways at Magnus, “It also can’t hurt to try to impress Robbe’s guardians.”

“Ahh, now I see your motivation. Winning over the parents. Always a tough job no matter who you are.” He grinned. “Do you live here?”

“No. I have a flat on the other side of town. Robbe and I use both places, though I admit to preferring my flat. The Institute still gives me the creeps, and we’ve been together for half a year now.”

“To be honest, me too. Have you looked at the walls, the floor? They’re repulsive. I just want to snap my fingers and lighten things up, but…” He lifted his palms up and shrugged.

Sander burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he had to stop for a moment. In between giggles, he said, “That’s the first thing I told Robbe when I came here. It’s God-awful ugly in here, and none of the Shadowhunters have a clue.”

“No,” Magnus grinned conspiratorially, “They wouldn’t.”

“I’ve had some time to think about this. If I could, I’d tear down all the tapestries, pull up the carpet, remove the furniture and knick knacks, add windows, lots of windows, a few paintings here and there, and leave the stone as-is.”

“I’d probably glitz it up, myself, but yes, all of the wall and floor coverings would have to go. Ugh! It hurts my eyes.” He covered his eyes for emphasis.

Sander couldn’t help laughing again, grateful that someone else recognized the deplorable state of the Institute. “Well, good news. The kitchens are just down there.”

Max and Rafe had already followed their noses and were descending the staircase into the kitchen. Sander followed with Magnus taking up the rear. The kitchen was bustling with activity. With a special guest and so many of the Enclave present, they were busy preparing lunch. 

Sander popped over to speak with Mads about stealing a few trays of food, and as soon as the cook saw who was with him, he immediately let Sander have whatever he wanted. He even promised to bring over a surprise dessert when he got a chance.

They sat around a small table in an out of the way corner and nibbled on some mini sandwiches, large shrimp, and fruit. Max, clearly in heaven, looked again at Sander. “Mr. Sander are you a warlock, too?”

Sander nearly choked. “Just Sander, Max, no Mister. And no, I’m not a warlock. I’m half Fey.”

“Oh, ok. That explains why your hair glows.” He then took another bite of sandwich, and chewing as he spoke, he proudly stated, “I’m a warlock, but I’m going to be a Shadowhunter when I grow up just like my dad.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, and though smiling proudly, Magnus admonished, “Don’t speak with your mouth full!” 

“Well,” Sander swallowed at a loss for what to say. “That’s a lofty goal. You’ll have to work really hard.”

Max swallowed his food, nodding his head. “Oh, I will! Uncle Jace already promised to teach me everything I need to know.”

“And that,” Magnus said, clapping his hands together, “is why Uncle Jace is not allowed to babysit alone anymore. He gave my toddler a knife. The babysitter needs a babysitter.”

Sander grinned. He looked at Rafe. “And what are your aspirations?”

The boy looked blankly at Sander.

“Erm, um. What do you want to be when you grow up?” he tried.

Rafe continued to just stare at him, nonplussed.

“Rafael,” Magnus said firmly.

The boy looked directly at Sander and said, “A Shadowhunter. I’m a Shadowhunter.”

“Oh,” Sander tried not to look embarrassed. “Sorry. Well, when I was your age, I wanted to be a mailman. Errr...it’s a far cry from where I am now.”

“Which is?” asked Magnus.

“Oh, I’m an artist. I sell my pieces at a local market as well as the Shadow Market.” His eyes lit up, and he smiled slightly. “It’s actually how I met Robbe.”

“Ahhh, I see. That’s why you’re so offended by the Institute’s appearance, but it still doesn’t explain the hair.”

“The hair?” Sander asked, but before Magnus could answer, they were interrupted by Mads bringing over a tray of ice cream sundaes. “Mads! You read my mind. Thank you!” Looking at Magnus, he said, “He knows Robbe and I sneak down here for ice cream some nights. I think he actually keeps extra on hand because of us. I can’t complain, though. I could live on croques and ice cream.”

The boys dug into their ice cream animatedly. Even Rafe cracked a smile and enjoyed the treat. Magnus looked at his sundae and wiggled his fingers over it, and it changed to green ice cream with no sprinkles. He wrinkled his nose at Sander. “I prefer pistachio.”

Sander smiled at him and dug into his own coffee flavored sundae. Taking a moment to just observe, he watched the small family interact, Max chattering incessantly, Rafe clearly trying to keep up his sourpuss act but failing miserably when Magnus teased him, and Magnus masterfully paying attention to both boys, joking with them and performing magic, while still looking like a fashion model. Sander couldn’t help being a little awed by the domesticity of it all. He was watching a famous, centuries old, warlock, a man who’d helped save the world, wipe his son’s sticky face.

In a sense it brought life more into perspective. Famous or not. Warlock, Faerie, or Shadowhunter. In the end, aren’t we all someone’s son or daughter, someone’s friend or cousin, someone’s mom or dad, someone’s significant other or spouse? To the world Magnus was a powerful, famous warlock, but to these boys he was just a fun dad. The fact that he could be both warmed Sander’s heart. 

The idea that he could be both a Faerie and Mundane artist as well as a Shadowhunter’s boyfriend made him extraordinarily happy, that he didn’t have to choose. Love makes your world bigger, not smaller. His life was now intertwined with Robbe’s, but it was still his life. He just had a whole new world of people to care about, and that world would keep growing and include more and more people, maybe even kids like Max and Rafe. 

Sander smiled to himself at the possibilities.

After they finished their ice cream, Sander took them on a tour of the Institute. They walked the corridors, mostly looking at empty rooms, but the training room and the library were instant hits. Max, of course, wanted to touch every weapon and climb on everything in the training room. At one point his excitement burst so forcefully out of him that he disappeared and then reappeared on one of the rafters near the ceiling. 

Giggling and walking the beam, he completely ignored Magnus’s entreaties to come down. Eventually Magnus had to pull him down with his magic, and he refused to let go of his hand for the rest of the tour.

When Max asked why he called the room a torture chamber, Sander decided to share with them his humiliating biweekly routine, demonstrating his skills with the throwing knives and sword. In all fairness, he had improved significantly, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Weapons and demons were Robbe’s thing, but he was grateful that he could help in a pinch.

While Rafe enjoyed the training room, he was more impressed with the library. He climbed up and down the circular iron steps, swung on rolling ladders, and scoured the Spanish section for books on demons. While he was looking, Max curled up on a couch and fell asleep.

Sitting on the couch beside him, hand on his head, Magnus looked up at Sander and asked, “Do you have an out of the way place where he could take a nap? We came from Mumbai, so it’s technically bedtime for him.”

“Sure, let’s go to Robbe’s room. It’s quiet and out of the way. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Magnus scooped Max into his arms and followed Sander to the door. “Rafe, let’s go.”

“Can I take the book with me?” the boy asked, dark eyes hopeful.

Magnus looked at Sander, who shrugged. “I’m sure it’s fine,” Sander said. 

They trekked up four flights of stairs and down several corridors until they reached Robbe’s room, the one place in the Institute that Sander felt comfortable. 

Robbe’s room had the traditional ancient four poster bed centered on the right wall, an equally ancient chest of drawers on the opposite wall, and a dark mahogany trunk at the foot of the bed, the same furniture in each room. The rest of the room, however, screamed both Robbe and Sander. There was a love seat underneath a large window, books stacked on the floor at either end; hoodies, shoes, and blankets were scattered on and around the small couch. Robbe had at least three sets of gear spread about the room. His brown jacket hung on a peg behind the door, and the dresser was covered in framed photographs of Robbe and Sander and a large assortment of knives. Sander’s influence appeared in the drawings scattered around the room and the sound system set up in the corner. Posters of David Bowie and Stormzy were tacked up on either side. The walls were covered in sketches and detailed drawings Sander had made of Robbe, Jens, nature, and other random subjects. Hanging centered over the bed in a place of honor was Sander’s first painting of Robbe, the white wings and kaleidoscope background contrasting with the grey stone walls. Robbe loved the painting and was so proud of Sander that he had insisted on displaying it in his room.

As Sander walked into the room he picked up stray pieces of gear and clothing and tossed them into a basket. “Sorry it’s a bit messy.”

Magnus smiled, gently laying Max onto the bed. “Honestly, it’s the most normal room we’ve been in so far. It looks lived in and comfortable.” Magnus pushed Max’s hair back with his palm. “I’ll need to wake him up in an hour or so. We need to get him acclimated.”

“No problem. We can hang out in here as long as you want. We could listen to music. There are some books. I’m sure you could conjure anything you’d need.”

“Well, it looks like Rafe already made himself comfortable,” Magnus stated. The boy had curled up on one end of the love seat and was reading the book he’d taken from the library. He didn’t even look up at Magnus’s words, already lost in the pages. 

Sander walked over to the sound system, turned it on, and selected a playlist from his phone. 

“So you like Bowie?” Magnus asked as the first strains of _Heroes_ started playing.

“No. I LOVE Bowie. We’ve had an enduring and intense relationship,” Sander corrected with a lopsided grin and a wink.

“I can see his influence in your aesthetic. I remember meeting him in the 70’s. We had an animated discussion about glitter, fashion, and boots. I tried to convince him to wear a pair of hot pink glitter combat boots, but he refused. Said they weren’t his color. I still think he was wrong. You’d look good in glittery, pink combat boots. Care to try?”

“Erm,” Sander stumbled. “I’m not sure how I feel about glitter.”

“Your loss,” he said absently, now wandering around the room peering at Sander’s drawings. He paused at several drawings, and spent a few minutes looking at the painting above the bed. Contemplatively, he said, “You know, you’re quite good.”

“Ha,” Sander burst out nervously. “I’m not bad.”

“No really,” Magnus said, pulling a sketch of Robbe and Jens from the wall. “You’re skilled. The painting over the bed is phenomenal, but I think you know that already. This sketch, though, it’s quiet and understated, and yet you’ve captured both of their expressions and mannerisms.”

Sander looked more closely at the drawing. It was of Robbe and Jens cleaning their weapons after a night of demon hunting. They both looked tired but content, clearly wanting to go to bed but unbothered by having to care for their weapons first. They leaned slightly into one another, heads bowed, knees almost touching, and their familiarity and friendship was palpable. 

Interrupting Sander’s thoughts, Magnus added, “You’ve captured their friendship here, but not only that. You’ve done it in a way that is comfortable and shows that you love both of them and aren’t threatened by their friendship.”

Sander blushed and ducked his head, unable to meet Magnus’s eyes, but he did manage a quiet, “Thank you.” 

“Do you use magic in your art?”

Sander turned his head back towards Magnus, surprised at the question. “No. I am only half Fey. The only magical thing about me that I know of is my hair. Now, I’ve used magicked materials, like paints that make the pictures move, but I don’t have any of my own magic.”

“Are you sure?”

Looking even more perplexed, he responded, “Well, sure. I mean, I’d know if I was using magic, wouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily. Especially if you’re not sure what kind of magic it is. You may not recognize it as magic.”

Sander stood still, thinking. Slowly, he said, “But...if that’s the case...then I wouldn’t know anyway, so does it matter? And anyway, why would you think I have any magic?”

Magnus sat on the bed, placing his elbows on his knees, and interlacing his fingers. “To answer your questions. One. You could know if a Warlock chose to look for it. And two. Your hair glows, or--” he paused, thinking, “or really, it has a pulsing aura, all the time. It emits magic and maybe power. I’m not sure yet, but there’s something special about it. Max and I can see it because we’re used to feeling as well as seeing magic. I guess what I am trying to say is that we can feel magic radiating from your hair. It is much more than a mood ring. And number two, part two. Your artwork is really good, questionably good for someone your age, though not impossible. You could just be extremely talented, and if so, my hat off to you.” And he tipped a pretend hat with a wink. “Or, you could be unknowingly using magic when you draw and paint. Either way, you’re a very talented artist. The whole thing’s quite fascinating.” 

“Umm...Erm.” Sander stuttered. “I think I need to sit down.” With that, he collapsed onto the chest at the foot of Robbe’s bed and planted his face in his hands.

“Not to overwhelm you, but would you mind if I examined your hair? It won’t hurt,” Magnus asked kindly.

Sander nodded, “Sure,” and sat up. 

Magnus scooted over on the bed and raised his hands, waving them around a bit. Blue light curled around his fingers. Sander closed his eyes. He could feel tendrils of magic touch his face, and occasionally Magnus hands would touch his hair. The whole experience was actually relaxing, and the more relaxed his body became the more his mind was able to process Magnus’s words.

Magic. Did he have magic? Did he use magic? He wasn’t honestly sure he liked the idea that he might be using magic to create his pieces instead of his own talent and skills. He’d worked hard for years to be able to sell his work without doubting its value, and to learn that it might be magic and not all those hours of practice that made him successful was utterly disheartening. 

Yet, what if he had magic? What would that mean? How would Robbe feel? Could he use it for more than art? Did it change anything? Sander found that he really didn’t know what to think. Just the idea of his hair having a greater power was overwhelming.

Magnus was chanting softly, under his breath, hands sweeping around his head. He finished with a flourish, snapping his fingers, and Sander felt a rush of air hit his face and rustle his hair.

“Well?” he asked Magnus.

“Hmmm,” was all Magnus replied. He was circling Sander, cat eyes riveted on his hair. He snapped his fingers again, and in a flash of blue light, a sketchbook and pencil appeared. “Do me a favor. Draw something.”

“What?”

“Let’s make it easy. Draw Robbe.”

So Sander did. He focused his attention on the pad, thinking wryly that he could easily have just grabbed his own from the dresser, and began sketching Robbe as he had looked that morning, bouncing on his toes, excited to meet Alec. Sander focused on Robbe’s nervous energy, his lithe body wound up tight as he lifted mid-bounce, but the look in his eyes was the one they had shared when Sander had called himself “Irresistible.” Robbe’s expression was caught between fondness and exasperation.

“See. There it is!”

Sander jumped, caught off guard. He’d almost forgotten about Magnus, so caught up in trying to recreate Robbe’s expression. “Huh. What?” He managed.

“That right there,” and Magnus pointed at Robbe’s face. “Emotions. The one unifying element in all of your drawings is that you capture feelings, exact moments of expression. I know exactly what emotion you want me to feel looking at the piece. It’s uncanny.”

“You do? I mean, what?” Sander paused to think. “So you can tell what emotion I’m trying to convey? Well, isn’t that the point? I am an artist. My job is to accurately depict a subject.”

Magnus smiled and raised his eyebrows, looking up for a moment. “Well, yes. In that sense, you are right. A good artist should be able to depict emotions accurately, but yours are _too_ accurate, too intense. And, I can not only feel the subject’s emotions but yours as well. You are on display in your art as much or more. I can read your emotions by looking at your art. Fascinating!” He exclaimed with a blinding smile, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. Blue sparks escaped from his fingertips, but he just waved them away. 

Cocking his head to the side he looked at Sander curiously. “Could you keep drawing, and just ignore me waving my hands about?”

“Uh, sure,” Sander replied, though he thought that might be difficult, feeling a little self-conscious now. Hoping it might help him focus, Sander stared at Robbe’s face, noticing the details that were still missing. Slowly, he began adding shading and depth. 

By the time Magnus said, “Ok, done,” Sander was fully absorbed again in the drawing, and coming back to reality took a few moments. 

Looking up, he blinked a few times and said, “Done?”

“Yes,” Magnus answered, a broad grin growing on his face. “You,” and he pointed at Sander, “have a gift.”

“I do?”

“You do. Your hair. It changes color depending on your emotions, right?”

“Yes, though not always, and I can control it if I want to.”

“Ok, but the key here is emotions. Your hair is connected to your emotions. You art captures moments of intense emotion. Don’t you see?”

Obviously it had to do with emotions, but Sander had no clue what the connection was. “Not really.”

“Your magic,” and he nodded as Sander looked up in surprise, “yes, your magic is tied to feelings. When you draw, I can feel the magic from your hair pulsing through your body. The magic that reveals your moods, as you put it, also intensifies your ability to capture feelings in your art. You are definitely using magic when you draw, and I believe the more you feel as you work, the more depth of emotion you can capture on canvas, the more of yourself you reveal. That painting, for instance.” Magnus was pointing at the painting of Robbe above the bed. “You were clearly feeling intense emotions while working because the expression on his face is almost indecent.”

Sander blushed crimson. “I...um…”

“No need to explain,” Magnus said holding up his hands. “If I had your talent, there would be an entire wing at the MET dedicated to Alec.”

Sander laughed, which caused him to relax a little. Magnus’s goal, he was sure.

“Let’s try another experiment. Draw your favorite flower or tree.”

He looked at Magnus questioningly, but replied, “Ok.” Turning to a clean page, he began drawing a Redwood, his favorite. Because of his Fey side, he’d always been drawn to nature, natural beauty, and there was something about the longevity and majesty of Redwoods that appealed to him. Like the Fey, they were ancient and had many stories to tell.

“Nope. Nothing.”

Again, pulled from the fog of drawing, Sander blinked at Magnus. “No what?”

“It didn’t happen that time. I was curious if it would work with all subjects or only when trying to capture emotions. Clearly, you need human or at least humanoid subjects for the magic to work.” He began pacing around the room, lightly ruffling Rafe’s hair as he passed by, the boy responding with only a twitch of the lips. “Have you--” he started, then paused, still pacing. “Has anything ever happened when you were feeling especially strong emotions, like anger or love? Anything weird?”

Thinking for a moment, he responded with a confident, “No. Nothing.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know if your magic works that way, but you should be aware that it might. You’re really young, and your magic may just be developing. Without seeing it myself, I really can’t say what might happen, but just be careful. Since it’s all tied to how you feel, there might be consequences to particularly powerful emotions.”

“Am I dangerous?” Sander wondered out loud, worrying for the first time that this could be a negative development.

“Probably not. I think it appears in your art because you are an artist. If you were a chef or a musician, it would probably have influenced those talents. I don’t mean to scare you, and I am sorry if I’ve been invasive. I was just excited to have a puzzle to solve.”

“Oh, no problem. We needed to kill time somehow, right?” Sander said with a genuine smile. “And honestly, as much as I might balk at the idea of thinking any of my talents come from magic, I think it’s definitely better for me to know this about myself, especially if the magic could show up outside my hair or my art. I don’t want to endanger Robbe or my family.”

“I really don’t think you need to worry. I’d bet if anything, it’d be anyone who tried to hurt them that would need to worry. You strike me as the protective type.”

“Oh no,” Sander laughed. “That’s Robbe. He’s 100% Shadowhunter. His protective mode is actually a little terrifying. And worrying, if I’m being honest. He’d probably run into a burning building or disembowel a nest of demons just to save me.”

“In that sense, I can relate.” Magnus winked. “Shadowhunter protective mode can be both stifling and wonderful.” They shared a look of fond understanding, rolling their eyes simultaneously and laughing. 

“At least now,” he added, “You may have the ability to return the favor. There’s something special about being a team of equals. You can’t protect him with a sword, but you might be able to protect him in other ways. Just food for thought. And speaking of food--” he held out his hands wide, cocked his head, raised an eyebrow, and looked at the ceiling, “awkward transition, I know, but it is what it is -- my little blueberry needs to wake up. We’ve let him sleep too long. He’ll be impossible.” He then turned his attention to Max, gently trying to wake up the small boy.

Sander thought about Magnus’s words. He was still grappling with the very idea of having magic outside of his moody hair, yet even the slightest chance that he could be less of a burden to Robbe, possibly a help even, brought Sander a level of joy he had not yet experienced. He hated being an additional person for Robbe to have to keep safe, and this would go a long way to alleviating any of doubts he still had about the imprudence of their relationship. 

Sander smiled to himself about the possibilities. Maybe this magic thing wasn’t so bad.

“No Papa, I’m tired,” He heard Max say as he batted Magnus’s hands away.

“I know, but it’s only the afternoon here. You can’t sleep yet. We’re going to be in Europe for a couple days, and no one, including you, wants to be up at 3am tomorrow.”

Max had curled into a ball, trying to avoid Magnus, but the older warlock grabbed him and threw him in the air. At first Max just looked shocked. Then a giggle escaped from the boy’s mouth, changing into a belly laugh as Magnus threw him up again making sparks come from his fingers. 

“Again. Again!”

Sander joined in the laughter as Magnus continued to toss the boy, this time letting glitter explode out of his palms with each release. 

“More. More glitter, _bapak_!”

Magnus caught Max and set him down. Mock-serious, he turned to Sander, hands resting on Max’s shoulders, and said, “Now, I don’t know about that Max. I remember this gentleman saying he wasn’t too fond of glitter.” He then opened his palm and blew glitter at Sander, the tiny sparkles creating a cloud over his head before falling into his hair. 

Max howled with laughter, arms hugging his stomach, and after the initial shock, Sander too couldn’t stop laughing. By this time Rafe had leapt off the love seat and was looking to join in.

Sander’s not quite sure how it all happened, but before he knew it, the four of them were in an all out glitter war, each with an endless supply of glitter provided by Magnus. They chased each other around the room, Max occasionally floating or walking on the ceiling, and threw glitter at one another. 

After a solid ten minutes and several team-ups to gang-up on one another, they all collapsed in a pile on the bed breathing heavily. A cloud of glitter exploded into the air as they hit the mattress. Glitter was absolutely everywhere. All over the floor, the furniture. Them. Everywhere.

“Robbe is going to kill me.”

“Don’t worry,” breathed Magnus. “I’ll handle it. And anyway, I have an idea that might distract him from the glitter anyway.”

Sander turned his head to look at Magnus and raised an eyebrow in question.

“How do you feel about eyeliner?”

“Erm...I have no feelings about eyeliner.”

“Well, as I’ve doused you in glitter, I feel that we might as well just go for the full Bowie effect.” Before Sander could answer, he had to sit up and brush glitter off his face, as Max and Rafe had started throwing glitter from the bed up into the air. Collecting himself, he asked, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting into an interested grin, “The full effect, huh? Which in your opinion would entail--?” 

“The works. Eyeliner. Glittery eyeshadow. Rosy cheeks if you’ll let me. I’ll even conjure up some bell bottoms or a shiny spandex costume for you.”

Sander couldn’t help laughing at the mental image. Looking sideways at Magnus, he asked jokingly, “Miss the 70’s do you?”

“Actually no, not really. While my current appearance may belie what I’m about to say,” and he gestured to the sequined jacket and glitter, “I wasn’t really into the glam rock or disco scene, and I hated bell bottoms. And don’t get me started on polyester, ugh.” He shivered comically. 

Sander laughed with him. “How about we compromise. We’ve already got the glitter. Why don’t we just do the eyeliner.”

“Just the eyeliner? Are you sure? I could deck you out in full Bowie cosplay.”

“Yes,” he beamed by shook his head, “I’m sure. While I love Bowie, I’m in no rush to adopt his look or persona. I think I’m more interested in his music. His lyrics speak to me. And anyways, I’m actually curious about eyeliner.”

“You’d look hot.”

“Then let’s do it!”

Magnus grinned and clapped his hands. “Ok boys. Off the bed! An artist needs room.”

Max leapt off the bed but never landed. His feet hit the ceiling, and he sat down cross legged, upside down. His eyes followed Rafe, and as soon as he was within reach, he threw a fistful of glitter at his brother. Rafe, turning quickly, retaliated with his own handful. 

And that was how Robbe and Alec found them a few moments later. The door burst open to reveal Magnus and Sander sitting on the bed, Magnus deftly applying black eyeliner, and the boys throwing glitter at one another from their places on the ceiling and love seat. 

Robbe stopped in his tracks, eyes darting around the room, resting slightly longer on Sander each time they passed him. Alec just grinned and leaned a shoulder on the door frame, ankles and arms crossed. 

Glancing up at the door as he pulled the eyeliner away from Sander, Magnus called, “Darling! You’re just in time. Do you want me to do yours?” He added a wink for good measure. 

Alec shook his head, a tired but genuine smile on his face. He leaned his head against the door jam and turned his gaze to the boys, watching them play with a tender look in his eyes. 

Max was the first one to notice him. “Dad!” He cried out and launched himself off the ceiling into Alec’s arms. Alec staggered from the momentum but caught himself before falling back into the hall. Rafe approached him more slowly, but he pressed his face into Alec’s stomach, as he wrapped his arms tightly around his waist. 

The sweet picture they presented made Sander itch for his pencils. This was family in all its glory. He tried to memorize what he was seeing. Maybe he could draw it later as a gift for Magnus.

Magnus had made his way over to the trio, and reaching his hand around the base of Alec’s skull, he pulled him in for a quick kiss. “Are you done for the day?” he asked, taking Max out of his arms so that Alec could hug Rafe properly. 

“Yes. I’m done. I’d ask if you had a good time, but I can see that you did.” At that, he turned and smiled at Sander. “Thank you for showing them around and keeping them occupied. They weren’t supposed to come, but we had to make a last minute trip to Mumbai; and it just didn’t make sense for them to go home if I was coming straight here.”

“Not a problem. We had a great time.” He looked at Magnus with a small smile, and added, “I’d even say it was enlightening.”

“Oh?” 

“I’ll tell you later. I’m sure he’ll want to tell Robbe himself,” Magnus said, patting his arm.

Sander gave him a grateful smile and turned his gaze to Robbe, who he realized hadn’t moved or spoken since they’d arrived. He’d been staring at him open mouthed during this whole conversation. Sander started a little and bashfully asked, “What?”

Robbe cleared his throat, his mouth opening and closing a few times. “Your eyes.”

“Yeah--” his voice lifted nervously, “do you like it?”

In response, Robbe closed the distance between them in record time, reaching his hands into Sander’s hair and pulling his lips into a fierce kiss. It only lasted a few seconds, as they had company, but it conveyed a myriad of emotions. Sander pulled away, looking slightly dazed, the right corner of his mouth tilting up. “I’m going to interpret that as a yes.”

Robbe shoved him playfully. “A resounding yes, idiot.” He pulled Sander into a quick hug and whispered in his ear, “You look so fucking hot!” He then pulled away and looked around the room for the first time. “Uh, Sander, what did you do to my room?”

“Erm--”

Before Sander could form an articulate reply, Magnus jumped in, “Oh, my fault entirely. We got carried away. Don’t worry about it.” He snapped his fingers, and a spark of blue light appeared. In the next instant, all the glitter disappeared. “See. All gone.”

Robbe looked visibly relieved. Sander reached down a grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“Dad, I’m hungry.”

“Seriously, Max!" Magnus interjected, “We just had your second lunch today and dessert.”

“But I’m still hungry.”

Alec looked over at Magnus, and in a serious tone, said, “Are you sure we’re raising a warlock? I think he might be a hobbit.”

Magnus leaned his head on Alec’s shoulder, responding, “I think you’re right. We should check for hairy feet later.”

“What? Papa, no! I DO NOT have hairy feet.” Max’s face had formed a pout, and his arms had moved from Magnus’s neck to cross over his own chest. 

“We know. We know.” He placated with a breathy laugh. He then looked up at Alec. “What do you want to do?”

Sander jumped in, “We could take you somewhere for food, show you around Antwerp.” 

Robbe squeezed his hand and nodded in agreement. “We’d love to.” 

Magnus and Alec held a silent conversation for a few moments, and then Alec said, “Sure. That would be great. Do you need a few minutes? Should we meet you in the Sanctuary?”

Robbe and Sander held their own silent conversation, and Robbe responded, “Nah. We’ll just all head down now. Sander and I will have plenty of time to catch up tonight. It’s not every day you can show the Consul and the High Warlock of Brooklyn around your city.”

Sander grinned in agreement and led the way out of the room, leading Robbe by the hand. The Lightwood-Banes followed, and they spent the next few hours exploring Antwerp, buying fries and snacks, and having a grand time together.

Robbe and Sander had parted with Alec, Magnus, and the kids around 20:00. Max had been trying to fall asleep on every bench, and Rafe looked dead on his feet. They escorted them to the hotel Magnus had insisted on booking, and after exchanging phone numbers, they parted ways. 

Robbe and Sander returned to the Institute where Robbe let Sander get three steps inside before tackling him with hands and lips. Somehow they made it up the stairs to Robbe’s room, and after locking his door, Robbe pushed Sander onto the bed. 

Robbe deftly removed both of their shoes and then climbed onto Sander’s lap. He framed Sander’s face with his hands and looked intently at his eyes, examining the eyeliner and rubbing his thumbs across Sander’s cheekbones. Tenderly he kissed the corners of Sander’s eyes and pressed their foreheads together, rubbing their noses.

“Sander, you’re going to kill me.”

Chuckling, he asked, “And why’s that?”

“We’ve been together six months, and I thought you were hot long before that. And somehow. Somehow,” he paused and poked Sander’s chest with his finger, “You keep getting hotter.”

“Really, Cutie, you exaggerate.”

“No, I don’t.” He leaned forward, eyes going dark, a mischievous smile forming on his mouth. “I really don’t.” His hands pressed into Sander’s shoulders, holding him down. “That eyeliner makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

“Oh, is that so. Like what?” Sander asked playfully.

Robbe flashed him an evil grin and then lowered his mouth to Sander’s ear, whispering his response. Sander saw black for a moment while the previously dormant butterflies in his stomach exploded, and then there was very little talking for quite a while.

An indeterminate amount of time later, they were snuggling together under the sheets, murmuring quietly to one another when Robbe abruptly rose up on one elbow. “By the Angel, is that glitter?” Robbe pressed his fingers into the sheets, and when he pulled them back, there were tiny sparkles attached. “I thought Magnus ‘took care of it.’”

Snorting, eyes sparkling, Sander replied, “Apparently not. I guess glitter is impervious to magic. The ‘glitter gets everywhere’ truism still stands strong!”

“Ugh,” Robbe groaned, flopping onto his back. “I hate glitter.”

“Hey, I thought I looked amazing in glitter,” Sander pretend-pouted, sticking out his lower lip.

“Baby, you look amazing in anything, and yes even in glitter.” He gave Sander a kiss on his temple, which erased Sander’s pout. “But, let’s keep our future glitter adventures in check, yes? Maybe just experiment with controlled substances, like makeup or glitter glue.”

“Ooooh, should I have let Magnus give me glittery eyeshadow like he wanted?”

“Ummmm, I really like the eyeliner. I don’t know how I’d feel about eyeshadow, glittery or not,” Robbe replied honestly.

Sander snuck his hand underneath Robbe and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him onto his chest. Pressing his face into Robbe’s neck, he breathed, “You needn’t worry. I’m not a fan of glitter either. I turned him down. He wanted me in full Bowie cosplay.”

“Seriously? Now I kinda wish I’d gotten to see that!”

“Even the sparkly spandex onesie-looking costume?”

“Oh my God, yes! I would have taken so many pictures and sent them to Jens for future blackmail purposes.”

“You would, would you?” He gripped Robbe tighter and rolled them over so that he was hovering over Robbe, weight resting on his elbows. “That’s not very nice of you. I thought you said I’d look amazing in anything.” He lowered his lips and just barely brushed them against Robbe’s. He pulled back, noting the disappointment in Robbe’s eyes. 

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t look great in it. I just said I’d want photographic evidence for future embarrassment purposes. Those ideas are not mutually exclusive.”

“Oh ho, really? Who is going to be the death of who, here? I disagree with your logic and your plan and am grateful that I stuck with only the eyeliner.”

Robbe snuck a hand out and wrapped it around Sander’s neck, using it to pull himself up. He kissed him and then whispered against Sander’s lips, “Me too.”

The rest of their evening was spent alternately sharing the news of the day--Sander’s new magical understanding and the purpose of Alec’s visit--flirting, and making out. Overall, Sander found that this day had been surprisingly wonderful, and if he was honest with himself, spending the day with Magnus felt like he was getting a peek at what his own future could be. He was awed by the possibilities of life, and he knew that if, through all their trials and tribulations, Magnus and Alec could do it, so could he and Robbe.

Bonus

Propped on an elbow, Robbe gazed down at Sander’s sleeping form, his fingers lightly playing with the tips of Sander’s hair and brushing lightly against his cheek. Sander had fallen asleep nearly an hour prior, and Robbe just couldn’t stop staring at him. Sander had always been beautiful, stunning really, but the eyeliner just did something for Robbe. 

He’d felt a visceral pull in his gut when he first saw it, like someone was pulling on a heavy weight deep in his abdomen. 

He’d been rather proud of himself all evening. He hadn’t jumped Sander in front of Magnus and Alec. He’d only been caught staring at Sander dreamily a handful of times. And, while he might have been embarrassingly clingy throughout the evening, he had succeeded in not kissing Sander every second. A win was a win, and he’d take it.

Robbe leaned forward and lightly kissed Sander’s bare shoulder and then curled himself into his side. Before he fell asleep, he resolved to take Sander shopping the next morning. For eyeliner. It might be the death of him, but he figured it was the only way to go.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. I hope that was as much fun for you as it was for me. 
> 
> Thank you to @aniloracat for the idea, though you have no idea that you would get the wheels working in my head when you said Sander reminded you of Magnus. You got me thinking about eyeliner and glitter with that comment, and then we got the Halloween Bowie pic; and it grew from there. 
> 
> I have one more chapter planned. It should be long and action-packed. Robbe and Sander are going to Paris! See you then.


	6. Anniversary in Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sander convinces Robbe to go to Paris for their Anniversary. They tour Paris, meet a Shadowhunter from Utrecht, and accidentally get caught up in a massive demon plot. Sander saves the day, and Jens rushes to Paris to help. Demons, demons everywhere with lots of fluffy Sobbe and a bit of VDS on the side. Enjoy the last adventure of our favorite Shadowhunter/Fey couple!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Detailed demon fighting violence and cursing; discussions about and references to deceased parents; mentions of grief
> 
> I changed the rating to Mature (M) because of this chapter. There are detailed depictions of demon fighting violence, nothing really graphic because it's all fantasy, and the demons are generally faceless dark masses anyway. I do describe how they kill the demons, though, so be ready for that. On the human side, there is mention of blood and two injuries are described in some detail, not too bad. 
> 
> I apologize to anyone who knows anything about Paris. I've only ever been to the southern coast of France, never as far north as Paris, so...please thank Google maps and all things Google images and search engines for anything I got right, and blame me for my ignorance about everything else. I had about 15 windows open at any given time. I hope my mistakes don't draw you out of the story.
> 
> Just as a heads up: this chapter is significantly longer than the others. A lot happens. I now know why people need betas. Editing this was a chore...

**A Paris Holiday**

The first time Sander suggested they go on holiday together for their anniversary Robbe responded enthusiastically. Then he suggested that they go to Paris, and Robbe shut down. His smile fell and a shutter dropped over his usually bright brown eyes.

Robbe did not want to go to Paris. Ever. He did not want to see where his parents died. He did not want to walk the streets where they fought off demons. He did not want to enjoy himself in the city that took them away. Paris was off limits. 

Which was exactly why Sander felt they needed to go. 

After so many months together, Sander had begun to notice that Robbe had a blind spot about Paris. He both feared and hated the city. His parents were killed by demons while strolling romantically (or at least that’s how Robbe saw it) in the Tuileries. They were unprepared and ambushed. He had been eight years old, and as far as he was concerned, Paris stole his parents. 

His feelings worried Sander. To be a great, and most importantly alive, Shadowhunter, Robbe needed to maintain his focus, to keep his fear in balance with his determination and skill. Sander couldn’t help wondering what Robbe would do if he _had_ to go to Paris. Would he panic? Would he be safe? Would his eight year old self’s anxiety and fear overcome his training? Would he come home? 

Paris is not exactly far from Antwerp, and the Paris Institute is the grandest Institute on the Continent, even more important now that Alicante was lost to them. The likelihood of Robbe having to go there on assignment or for an important meeting was high. Sander wanted to nip this in the bud now, and he wanted to disguise it as a romantic anniversary trip.

He needed to strategize, and he needed an ally. He enlisted Jens’s help, and they formed a plan. Between them, they spent the summer dropping hints and casually mentioning Paris.

“Did you know Paris only has one stop sign?”

“I bet I could beat you up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower.”

“I’ve heard the training room at the Paris Institute is the size of a small stadium, and their weapons actually cover all four walls. Not just one!”

“Impressionists, Robbe! I need to see Manet in person, you have no idea!”

“I really want a croissant. I’ve heard they’re even better in Paris!”

“Da Vinci! Raphael! Caravaggio! Vermeer! C’mon!”

“I wonder how Notre-Dame is recovering after the fire.”

“You know, the Paris Institute has flying buttresses and gargoyles. Can you imagine? Living with actual gargoyles? I wonder if I’d be like Quasimodo and talk to them when I’m bored.”

“Have I mentioned the gargoyles? Because honestly, I need to spend the night in a place that has gargoyles.”

“Can you bring me back a pet gargoyle?”

“Paris is beautiful in the autumn.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Robbe said tiredly one day as they walked down a small street. “You’re trying to convince me to go to Paris with you. You and Jens both, though I don’t know why he’s helping.”

Sander rubbed his hand across his face, his white hair blowing lightly in the wind. “Yes. We’ve been trying to break down your barriers by mentioning it a lot.”

“But why, Sander? Why do you care so much? We could go anywhere for our anniversary. Anywhere. I’ve never been to Rome, London, Berlin, Vienna…”

“Robbe,” Sander interjected, “I want to take you to Paris. I’ve never been, and I’m an artist. Some of the greatest art in the world is there. It’s so close, and I’ve never seen it in person. I want to take you to the most romantic city in the world and do sappy, romantic, touristy things. And,” he paused, taking Robbe’s hand and pulling him so that they’re facing one another, “I worry about you. And so does Jens.”

“So you worry about me. I’m a Shadowhunter. Of course you do. What does that have to do with Paris?” Robbe asked, looking perplexed. 

Sander placed his other hand on Robbe’s cheek, thumb brushing slowly over his cheekbone. “We’re concerned that your fear--”

“I’m not afraid,” Robbe interjected hotly, jerking his face away.

“Ok,” Sander started again, putting his hand back on Robbe’s cheek, “We’re concerned that your feelings about Paris might be dangerous...for you, and we’re hoping that a holiday there will show you that it was the demons’s fault, not the city’s. We love you.” He moved his hand to smooth back Robbe’s fly away waves, ending with it cupped behind his ear. Changing tack, he tried, “You know how you wanted me to learn to fight so that I could be safe?”

Robbe nodded, eyes focused on the cobblestones.

“This is the same kind of thing. We see a potentially dangerous situation in the future if you don’t get your feelings about Paris under control. What better way to face your--can I say fear now?” He asked kindly. Robbe nodded again. “What better way to face your fear than to do it holding my hand, wandering around beautiful gardens, and listening to me wax poetically about all the artwork you could care less about?”

Sander put a finger under his chin to lift his eyes and then gave him a teasing smirk. “And anyway, I listen to you and Jens talk about weapons nonstop. It’s _my_ turn!”

Robbe managed a bit of a smile, and Sander’s heart soared. Progress!

“Please,” he added, pulling Robbe into a hug, “Just think about it. We started our campaign over the summer so that the idea would grow on you, so that you could get used to it. You have plenty of time. Just think about it for me, please?”

Sander felt Robbe’s nod against his neck, and the tight squeeze that accompanied it let him know that Robbe wasn’t mad.

Either Robbe gave up or Sander and Jens wore down his defenses because he finally agreed to go in mid-September, which gave Sander a month to plan. They would be gone for a whole week, stay in a hotel (no Institutes, thank you, gargoyles or not, Jens), and take their time. 

A month later, the train rolled smoothly down the tracks, lulling them to sleep as they sat side by side, feet rudely propped up on the reversed seats in front of them. 

Robbe’s head rested on Sander’s shoulder, and Sander’s head leaned atop Robbe’s. Their bodies rocked with the train’s movements. Both were exhausted. Robbe had been on patrol the night before, and Sander had been up late packing and repacking out of anxiety. He wanted their trip to be perfect, and it was causing him to lose sleep. They had about two hours to nap, and they were planning to take advantage.

Both boys traveled as mundanes, unglamored. Sander, dressed in his usual aesthetic, wore his leather jacket, a black t-shirt, dark wash jeans, and his boots. Robbe, however, looked drastically different than usual, which pretty much rotated between clean gear, ichor or blood splattered gear, and pajamas. For the trip he wore his brown jacket, a dark green hoodie, baggy khakis, and white sneakers. His hood hid the tendrils of runes that peeked over his collar, and his voyance rune was carefully hidden in the pocket of his hoodie. Tufts of hair framed his face, occasionally tickling Sander’s nose, and every few minutes he would adjust, curling just a little more into Sander’s side. He looked cozy and very cuddly, Sander thought absently, and he pulled him in a little tighter. 

They had, of course, packed Robbe’s gear and an assortment of weapons in the larger suitcase, but at the moment, Robbe was only sporting about three hidden knives and a seraph blade. All things considered, that level of weaponry was consistent with a walk in the park. Sander was proud of him.

Robbe slept and Sander dozed the whole way to Paris. When the announcement came over the speakers that they would be arriving soon, Sander had to elbow Robbe awake.

“Hey sleepyhead, it’s time to get up. We’re here!” Wait, Sander thought. We’re here. We’re here!! A wide, ecstatic grin swept across his face, and his eyes lit up with joy. He’d done it! He’d brought Robbe to Paris.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself. I can still turn around and go home,” Robbe whispered in his ear. 

Sander started, turned to look at Robbe, and then relaxed. Robbe was grinning, a sarcastic gleam in his eyes. Sander elbowed him again and then bumped him with his shoulder. 

Leaning over, he whispered, “You’re not going anywhere, and you know it. You have a whole week with me in a hotel to look forward to.”

Robbe blushed a becoming shade of pink, but then he stood up and whispered into Sander’s other ear, “Oh, I know. And I plan to take advantage.” He kissed Sander’s ear and then stood up straight.

Sander’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Robbe with both surprise and anticipation. When their eyes met, they immediately burst into laughter. “Robbe, you’re going to be the death of me,” Sander said, standing up and reaching for his bag from the overhead bin. 

“Probably,” Robbe agreed doing the same next to him, “but it’ll be a good death.” Then he bumped him with his hip and shrugged on his backpack. “Let’s go, Faerie boy!”

Sander rolled his eyes but grabbed Robbe’s hand, and they set out to explore Paris. 

The first stop was the Paris Institute. Though Sander agreed, rather begrudgingly of course, with the necessity of checking in with the local Shadowhunters, he was still bummed to be beginning his holiday at yet another Institute.

A tall, slender Shadowhunter with electric blue eyes and a mop of curls answered their knock at the Sanctuary door. He stood relaxed, leaning against the door jam, a half smile on his face and a question in his eyes. “Hello?” He half asked in accented French.

“Hi!” Robbe exclaimed in rapid French. “I’m Robbe, and this is Sander. The Stoffels said they sent a fire message that we’d be stopping by today.”

The boy smiled fully now, bringing his right hand to mess with his hair. “Ah, I’m sure they did. No one tells me anything around here. I’m Lucas. I’m from Utrecht, but I’m spending my travel year here.”

“Ahhh, nice to meet you!” Robbe responded in Flemish, reaching out his hand. They shook, and then Lucas turned to Sander, who shook it as well.

Lucas’s smile was a full grin now, and he seemed completely relaxed. “It’s so good to be reminded of home. Even if you sound a little funny.” He winked. “Here. I’ll show you around a bit, and then I’ll take you to Élodie.”

They left their luggage in the Sanctuary, and Lucas walked them around the main parts of the Institute, highlighting important rooms, like the Training room, and unique architecture and artwork.

“You know,” Sander said, elbowing Robbe in the ribs, “This Institute is actually amazing. Why does the one in Antwerp look like a blood-stained medieval rug vomited all over it, and this one is visually stunning and filled with beautiful antiques and art? I am personally offended.” He huffed out jokingly.

Before Robbe could respond with more than a light shove, Lucas looked back with a grin and said, “Yeah, it is pretty amazing. I don’t know about blood stained carpet or whatever, but the Utrecht Institute is far from impressive. Paris,” he paused looking around the atrium at the exposed support beams, “is something else. It’s special. I can’t believe how much time I’ve spent just wandering around in here drawing everything.”

“Wait! You draw?” Sander asked excitedly.

“Yes,” he answered hesitantly.

“Oh no. No, no no,” exclaimed Robbe as Sander wrapped his arm around his shoulders, squeezed, and started bouncing excitedly on his toes. “No. This is our holiday. You two can become besties next week!” Robbe rolled his eyes fondly at Sander and then turned his gaze to Lucas. Proudly, he said, “Sander is an amazing artist.” 

Sander blushed a little as Lucas asked, “Really?”

“Hmph,” Sander responded noncommittally, but he added, “That’s kind of how we met.” He gave Robbe a sly look. “He saw my work, and it was love at first sight.” 

Robbe rolled his eyes and let his head fall back onto Sander’s arm. “That,” he emphasized, “is not what happened. At all. But he is really good, and I can already tell by looking at him that he’s excited that there might be a Shadowhunter more interested in art than weapons.”

Lucas barked out a laugh, nodding, as he said, “I can see why that might be appealing. I happen to like both.”

Sander grinned broadly, reaching out his other arm to rest it around Lucas’s shoulders. “I can see that we’re going to get along.”

They wandered around the Institute for another hour. Sander and Lucas had a grand time sharing their backgrounds and commenting on the artwork and architecture. Robbe interjected occasionally, but mostly he watched them fondly, squeezing Sander’s hand in support. 

They briefly stopped in to see Élodie Verlac, the Head of the Institute, and officially check in. As they began to head back to the Sanctuary, Robbe stopped in his tracks and said, “Wait! Shit! Gargoyles.”

“Gargoyles?” Lucas asked, perplexed while Sander immediately started laughing.

“I know where this is going,” Sander guffawed.

“Shut up, you!” Robbe admonished. “My _Parabatai_ Jens kept going on and on about the gargoyles at the Institute. I really want to take a selfie with one. Do you have any idea if that’s possible, Lucas?”

“Sure, I mean, it’s not easy. We’ll have to climb out on the roof, but I doubt that’s a problem for you.” His face still registered confusion, but he seemed willing enough to help.

They all turned around and started following Lucas up many, many (too many) flights of stairs. Eventually they reached the attic, opened the maintenance door, and climbed out onto the sloping, shingled roof. Shielding his eyes, Sander gazed around in the bright sun, gauging how challenging it would be to reach a gargoyle. 

There were mismatched gargoyles spread out along the edge of the roof and three perched on the ridgeline. Locking eyes with Robbe, he shifted his chin towards the closest one on the ridgeline. He nodded, and lithely sprinted up the shingles to balance along the ridgeline before catapulting between the wings on the gargoyle’s back. 

Sander rolled his eyes. Shadowhunters! They were over a hundred feet in the air, and his boyfriend was flipping around. Paying close attention to his feet, Sander gingerly followed, and by the time he reached the gargoyle, Robbe had his phone out and was making faces while snapping selfies. His hair was flapping around wildly, and his oversized hoodie was billowing out around him. He looked excited, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Trailing behind, Lucas arrived, and Robbe shouted over the wind, “Here! Everybody look!” and he snapped another selfie.

“Okay,” Sander yelled back. “It’s really windy. I think we should get back inside.” He and Lucas turned to go back, but before he’d taken two steps, his heart dropped into his stomach as he saw Robbe fly overhead, landing in a crouch before them, feet balanced on the ridge. Sander’s hand flew to his chest, and he would have slipped if Lucas hadn’t grabbed his elbow to keep him upright.

“Fucking Shadowhunters!” He roared at Robbe. “Always showing off. You nearly gave me a heart attack! Save it for when we’re closer to the ground. You’re not invincible!”

Robbe just grinned at him, exhilarated by the height and his adrenaline. He winked and slid the rest of the way down to the maintenance door. Sander followed on hands and knees, aiming for the door at an angle.

Once inside, he gave Robbe’s shoulders a shove and then pulled him into a hug. “Idiot.” He shoved his nose into Robbe’s hair and inhaled, trying to slow his heart rate. “Please. Be more careful. I know you’re basically a superhero, but please. My heart can’t take it.”

Robbe’s arms wrapped around his waist and a muffled, “I‘m sorry” came from the region of his neck.

“It‘s okay,” Sander said, kissing his hair.

Together they traipsed back to the Sanctuary entrance. While Robbe texted Jens, Sander and Lucas exchanged numbers. 

“Call me if you need anything while you’re here. I am on the patrol schedule, but I don’t have a lot of responsibilities at the moment. I can help you in a pinch or just show you around if you think you need a tour guide.”

“Thanks,” Sander replied, genuinely pleased. “I’ll text you.” They shook hands, and Robbe waved from the sidewalk, face glued to his phone, giggling.

Sander grabbed their suitcase and sidled up to Robbe. “What’s so funny?”

“Look at this,” Robbe answered, still giggling uncontrollably.

Saturday 13:11 

Jens: Who is that? 👀

Jens: No seriously. Who the fuck is that!?!

Robbe: Who?

Jens: Asshole

Jens: The guy who’s clearly not Sander

Robbe: Oh. A Shadowhunter

Jens: ...

Robbe: His name is Lucas. He’s from Utrecht. Do you want his number?

Jens: What?

Jens: No

Jens: Of course not, what? Why?

Jens: Go give the gargoyle, I mean Sander a kiss, and leave me alone. 😒

Sander smiled, returning Robbe’s phone, and wrapping his arm around his shoulder as they started down the sidewalk. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Unexpectedly hilarious! I am going to enjoy this.”

“I’m feeling almost sorry for Jens, but then I remember it’s Jens...and I’m happy to let you torture him.”

“We should invite Lucas out with us one day and take lots of pictures,” Robbe suggested. “You’ll have someone knowledgeable to talk about art with for once, and I’ll be able to drive Jens crazy by sending him a million pics of Lucas. It’ll annoy him on so many levels. Ooooooh, this is definitely an unexpected bonus for our trip. I’ll make sure to tell Jens I’m so glad he suggested we go.”

“You are positively evil.”

“Only when it involves Jens.”

“That’s true. Around me you’re basically a marshmallow,” Sander said fluffing his hair.

“Hey, watch it, Faerie Boy!”

Sander fluffed his hair again. “A feisty marshmallow. How’s that?”

Robbe held up his fingers about a centimetre apart. “Marginally better.”

Sander shrugged his shoulders. “Eh. Let’s get some lunch. I’m starved, and we have three hours before we can check into the hotel.”

The hotel Sander had chosen, near the Arc de Triomphe, was neither fancy nor disgusting. Their room was clean, the bed was essentially two twins shoved together under a sheet, and the shower was big enough for two. They were content.

They spent the first few days alternating between visiting the sites and lulling around in bed intermixed with a ridiculous amount of croissants, café, and delicious food.

The first place they went, because duh, was the Louvre. Sander was in heaven. Robbe indulged him, and they stayed there all day, eating lunch at the museum restaurant and visiting as many of the exhibits as they could. Robbe kept having to pull him away from pieces and remind him to keep moving. The museum was cruel that way. It was impossible to see in one day, creating a constant pull between wanting to linger and needing to explore more. 

As a thank you, Sander guided them to a restaurant with a clear view of the Eiffel Tower. It looked like magic, all lit up and glowing like a beacon. They had a romantic-ish dinner under the stars--romantic-ish because apart from the restaurant’s ambiance, they spent most of the dinner laughing and giggling, bumping knees, and acting rather silly--not exactly romantic behavior. 

The next day they lazed around in bed for a while, enjoying the calm and each other. When they were too hungry to delay anymore, they set out for a quick breakfast and spent the day wandering all over the city. They walked through gardens, stepped into a few churches, crossed what felt like dozens of bridges, and strolled down innumerable streets. They had decided to just explore the city, not visiting any major sites and walking until they couldn’t walk anymore.

In hindsight, Sander realized that plan had a major flaw. Shadowhunters don’t tire as quickly. Before he knew it, it was dark, and they were over by the Pantheon on the other side of the city, which meant they had a hike ahead of them. Robbe still glowed with energy, skipping ahead occasionally, or darting off to look at something before coming back. Sander, while tired, wasn’t exhausted, so he kept the complaining to a minimum and headed in the general direction of their hotel.

Eventually, they found a hole in the wall kebab place for dinner and took a break, eating on a bench facing the Seine. Robbe looked cheekily at Sander, “You know. This is basically what we do at home, right? We walk around at night together--”

“Not really, I just accompany you on patrol occasionally.”

“No interrupting.” He bumped Sander with his shoulder. “We eat kebab. We walk along the river. We talk and act like idiots. We sit and stare at the river while talking. We hang out in bed. We act like idiots in bed. We eat. A lot.” 

“Perhaps,” Sander sighed, pretending to be put upon, but hiding a smile, “But it doesn’t look like this at home.” He waved his hand out to indicate the lights and buildings. “And there are no parents here. No Jens. No patrol nights. Just us.”

“Two points to Slytherin. I concede.”

Sander flashed him a grin, “And anyway. Of course we’re just acting like us. We took ourselves on vacation. Couldn’t exactly leave our personalities or interests behind, now could we?”

“Fine. Fine.” Robbe leaned his head on Sander’s shoulder. “I guess I’m failing at saying I’m glad we came. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Happy Anniversary.”

As he was getting dressed the next day Sander suggested they visit the Tuileries, but Robbe’s face shut down immediately. Trying to quickly shift the mood, Sander tackled him onto the bed and smothered his face in kisses. Robbe erupted into surprised laughter and flipped him over, straddling his hips and reaching under his shirt.

He lightly ran his cold hands up and down Sander’s sides, simultaneously tickling him and turning him on. He could feel a slight tingle on his scalp as his hair burst into a telling dark shade of purple.

Robbe grinned evilly and then leaned forward and began kissing and biting the space under his right ear. His light breaths caused Sander to squirm. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he darted up, quickly removing both his and Robbe’s shirts. 

“Okay,” Sander gasped, bringing his lips back to Robbe’s, “Maybe later.” And he meant it. They would go to the Tuileries before they left. Robbe needed closure, but for now he was happy to focus on other things.

They spent the morning fooling around, alternating between ridiculous flirting and heated moments. As always, there was lots of laughter, and it all culminated in a shower that got cold way too soon.

They finally emerged from the hotel around lunchtime, skin clean, hair still wet, and stomachs grumbling angrily. They found an outdoor cafe with a free table and lingered over coffee and croque madams. 

After a quick discussion, they agreed on their next stop--or opportunity for torture depending on how you looked at it--the Eiffel Tower. Ever since Jens had mentioned racing to the top, Robbe had been determined to try. He wanted to see if he could run the whole way up. 

Shadowhunters, ugh!

Sander, indulgently, bought the tickets, and since it was the off season, there was no line (especially for the stairs because duh). He made to take the first step up, but Robbe cried, “Wait!” and put his hand on Sander’s arm. He was messing with his phone. When he looked up, he grinned, “Just setting a timer. I need to be able to show Jens...and maybe compare when it’s his turn.”

Sander dropped his head forward, catching it with his hand over his eyes. “ _Parabatai_ ,” he sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if that’s even a healthy relationship.”

“Hush you. He and I have a very loving, healthy friendship going here. I just refuse to skip any opportunity to give him shit,” Robbe said without irony. 

Sander lifted his head and eyes gazing up the stairs, “How healthy of you,” he said, eyes shifting sideways.

“Shut up!” 

“Hmmmm. Okay, let’s get this disaster over with. Ready?”

“Yep.” Then he unlocked his phone, gave Sander a quick kiss, hit the start, and took off up the stairs. 

Sander yelled up after him, “I’ll see you later then, shall I?” Chortling a little, he ascended the stairs at a steady but quick pace. 674 stairs. That’s fine. Just fine.

When Sander climbed the last step, he found Robbe leaning against a beam, legs and arms crossed casually, looking out at the view. He snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. Robbe tensed briefly and then relaxed and sank back into his chest.

Breathing into his ear, still trying to catch his breath, he said, “Once again, you are the reason I am breathing heavily.”

Robbe shivered and a smug look crossed his face.

“Don’t be too proud of yourself. Most of the time it’s because you force me to exercise.”

Robbe’s smug look fell for a moment before Sander gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and squeezed him a little tighter. “You take my breath away,” he whispered.

Robbe burst out laughing. “By the Angel, you are cheesy!”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

“I do. I do,” he said, snuggling back into Sander’s embrace.

They rode the elevator to the top, and all Sander could think the whole time was “Thank God!” On the way back down, they got off the elevator on the second floor and blessedly descended the stairs at a more sedate pace than they ascended, stopping to enjoy the glass floor on the first floor. 

They were the only ones in there for a good ten minutes, so Robbe took the opportunity to act like an absolute child, performing flips and acrobatics over the glass and pretending like he was falling. Sander kept giving him exasperated looks, but secretly he loved it. Robbe needed more, not fewer, opportunities to act carefree. Shadowhunters were often far too serious. Eventually a staff member intervened and kicked them out, and they went down the rest of the way.

The next day Sander texted Lucas, and they invited him along to visit the Musée d'Orsay and explore more of the city. As expected, Sander and Lucas had a great time discussing the art and different techniques and styles. Sander was particularly drawn to Manet and Cézanne. Lucas preferred Monet and Degas. They both were, of course, enamoured with Van Gogh. 

True to his word, Robbe photo-journaled the whole day in texts to Jens. 

Jens’s responses started out with incredulity. Then, when the photos kept coming, they changed to exasperation, wandered into anger, reluctantly showed interest, and by the end of the day, Jens was willing to admit that:

Wednesday 21:21

Jens: Fine!

Jens: Yes, he’s hot

Jens: Will you leave me alone now?

Robbe: No

Jens: 🖕

Robbe showed Sander his phone when they took a break by the Seine. “It’s a good thing Jens finally admitted it because I was about to push Lucas into the river, so I could send him a wet t-shirt pic.”

“No, you weren’t,” Sander laughed.

Robbe pretended to sulk, “I thought about it.”

“Well,” Sander grabbed Lucas by the shoulders and pulled him in, “I wouldn’t let you do that to my new best friend here.”

“Do what?” Lucas asked, having missed the whole exchange because he’d climbed up on the railing by the bridge. 

“Throw you in the river.”

“What?” Lucas asked, confusion all over his face.

Sander gave Robbe a slightly evil grin. “Have you noticed my love here has been a little trigger happy with his camera?”

“Maybe. Though isn’t that what all tourists do?”

Robbe gave him a grateful smile and shoved Sander with his hip.

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy.” He turned his gaze to Lucas, “He’s been taking pictures of you. All day”

“Ummmm, well that might explain my slight confusion at being in all of your photos, considering it’s your vacation. I had thought that odd.”

Sander snorted and looked at Robbe. “Smooth. You were being really smooth.”

“Shut up!” Robbe retorted, turning slightly pink. He hesitated for a moment and then sighed, “Fine. He wants me to come clean.”

Sander just raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve been sending pictures of you to my _Parabatai_ all day,” Robbe began.

“Okaaaay,” Lucas said, dragging it out.

“He might have said something about you a few days ago when I sent him the photo with the gargoyle, so I’ve been dragging him all day by sending him pictures of you.”

“Back up. First, who is your _Parabatai_ , and what photo?” Lucas asked, waving his hands side to side.

Robbe beamed and pulled out his phone. He showed Lucas the picture of the three of them with the gargoyle and then pulled up a picture of Jens. Sander noticed he chose a flattering photo of him in gear, bow over his shoulder, leaning casually against the training room door. His heart warmed to know that Robbe was simultaneously trying to set up and tease his _Parabatai_. _Parabatai_ were so strange. 

Robbe continued, “He was adamant about knowing who was in the picture with us, and I’ve been picking on him ever since. He just--”

“Nope, stop there, Cutie. Leave Jens a shred of dignity,” Sander interjected, though he thought Lucas could probably fill in the blanks.

Lucas’s ears turned pink, answering Sander’s supposition, but all he said was, “Huh. _Parabatai_ are weird.”

Jumping his feet wide and spreading his arms, Sander burst out, “I know right!” He wrapped his arms around Lucas, “Thank you!” He paused, then reiterated, rocking Lucas in the hug, “Thank. You.”

Both of them burst out laughing while Robbe gave them a pointed look, eyebrows raised. “Oh, get over here,” Sander said, pulling him in. “You know you two are ridiculous. You can’t deny it.”

“Maybe,” Robbe reluctantly agreed, giggling a little. He looked up at Lucas, “Jens is awesome, just so you know.”

Lucas coughed, turning pink again, and stepped back, a small smile lifting his lips. Turning away, he asked over his shoulder, “You hungry? I know a great place nearby.”

“Sure,” Robbe answered enthusiastically. 

The next day they wandered around aimlessly on the north side of the city. They enjoyed taking their time and just observing all the hustle and bustle, stopping at whatever struck their fancy. By Friday, they’d explored the entire city. Everywhere, except the Tuileries, and tomorrow, they were catching the train home. 

At lunch, Sander brought it up again. “Robbe?”

“Mmmm,” he responded, eyebrows raised, still chewing.

“The Tuileries.”

“I know.”

“Are you ready?”

“No,” Robbe said, his voice small, “But yes.”

Sander reached his hand across the table and squeezed Robbe’s. “I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

They finished their lunch and leisurely strolled toward the Tuilieries. Robbe was in no hurry, and Sander didn’t want to push him. As they approached the nearest corner of the gardens, Robbe stopped.

Sander put his arm around him and squeezed. “We’ve already been here, you know. Essentially. The Louvre is right there,” pointing across the gardens.

“I know. I’m just not sure how I’m going to feel...in there,” Robbe said with a shrug. “This is where my parents died. Am I going to cry? Feel overwhelmed? Or worse, feel nothing special? What if my reaction doesn’t honor their memory in some way?”

“Robbe, look at me.” Robbe turned, and Sander clasped both of his shoulders and purposefully looked directly into his eyes. “Whatever you do will be perfect. There’s no right way to grieve. There’s no rule book for this sort of thing. Whatever happens happens. Don’t put unnecessary pressure on yourself. Okay?” He paused, waiting for an affirmative. At Robbe’s nod, he pulled him into a hug and said, “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go in. Just let me know when to let go.”

“Don’t let go."

“Okay,” Sander said, smiling into his hair, “Let me know when to stop hugging you. How’s that?”

Robbe responded by rubbing his face in Sander’s neck, and they stayed that way long enough that Sander wondered if they’d get inside before dark.

Eventually Robbe pressed back, interlaced his fingers with Sander’s, and stepped purposefully across the sidewalk into the Tuileries. 

At first, they just wandered the paths, looking around at the flora and fauna. Sander could see Robbe’s eyes darting around. He imagined that everywhere they went Robbe would wonder if that was where his parents died.

After they had circled the perimeter and crisscrossed around the fountain, Sander led them to a patch of grass under a tree. He sat with his back against it and pulled Robbe down to lean back against his chest.

“What’s going on in there? You okay?” he asked gently.

“I’m okay. This whole trip hasn’t been nearly as bad as I thought.” He paused, thinking. “I--I used to get so worked up thinking about Paris and my parents. I blamed the Paris Institute. I blamed the meeting. I even blamed my parents for coming here. I was so...so...angry. For a long time. I guess I just focused all that anger on the fact that it happened here. Now,” he paused again, “I dunno. I guess I realize that they could have been attacked anywhere. It just happened to be here, and I was a little ridiculous in being so hateful.”

“Well,” Sander responded gently, “I’m glad to hear this hasn’t been traumatic for you. I felt very strongly that we needed to come, but I couldn’t be sure that you would be able to overcome those feelings.”

“Not traumatic, no. It’s been a lot of fun more than anything. I’ve had a few sad moments here or there, but overall I believe our first holiday together was a success.” He leaned his head to the side and lifted his chin to meet Sander’s eyes.

“Our _first_ holiday. I like the sound of that.”

“Well, of course,” He smirked. “I’m a workaholic Shadowhunter, and you are a compulsive artist. We’re going to need to go on holiday regularly for our mental and physical health.”

Sander laughed quietly in Robbe’s ear. “I like the sound of that even better.”

They sat quietly for a long time, thinking their individual thoughts but enjoying one another’s presence. The sky began to darken around them, and the street lamps turned on. Just as Sander was about to suggest they get up, Robbe said, “This was a good idea. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Pressing his elbow back into Sander’s stomach, he added, “I really hated it, you know. I felt like you and Jens were trying to manipulate me, but in the end you were right. I needed closure.”

“Oooooh, say that again!” Sander exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. 

“Shut up!” Robbe elbowed him again.

“No seriously. Say it again. I have to record it for Jens. He’ll die of happiness.”

“Never.”

“And here I thought you loved your _Parabatai_. For shame,” Sander mock pouted.

“You’re already being insufferable. He’d be worse! So definitely not. Forget I said anything.”

“Never!” Sander cried out, standing up and pulling Robbe along with him. He swayed them side to side and said, “It’s music to my ears.” Then he twirled Robbe twice.

Landing with his palms against Sander’s chest, Robbe rolled his eyes and said, “I rest my case. Insufferable and utterly ridiculous.”

“Eh,” Sander shrugged. “Let’s agree to disagree.” 

As they turned to leave, a thought crossed Sander’s mind. “Hey,” he said, “Do you mind if we walk back toward the Louvre? I’d really like to see the courtyard and pyramids lit up at night.”

“Sure. It’s not like it’s far. Let’s go.”

The moment they stepped into the courtyard, Sander could tell something was wrong. Robbe’s entire body had stiffened, his eyes darted around, and his hand had unconsciously reached for the seraph blade glamored at his waist.

“What is it?” Sander asked.

“Demons,” he whispered, eyes still scanning the open space. “I’m almost surprised this is the first time we’ve come across any on the trip.” He bent down and grabbed two daggers from his ankle holster. “Here,” he said to Sander, handing him a blade. “Keep a lookout for a few seconds. I need to apply runes.”

“Okay. Sure. Demons at the Louvre. Awesome,” Sander said sarcastically to distract himself. He scanned the courtyard while Robbe applied runes to his stomach and arms--glamour, stealth, speed, soundless, strength, and a few others. 

Robbe dropped his hoodie and stood holding his seraph blade in one hand and a dagger in the other. “Geared up now?” Sander asked, trying to sound light.

“Yeah. See anything?”

“No.”

“Okay. The wind is blowing from the northeast, and I smelled them on the wind, which means they’re probably that way. Follow me, and please be careful.” He loped off, and Sander followed.

The Palace buildings now surrounded them on three sides, and the glass pyramids loomed ahead on the right, the warm yellow lights blazing within. Robbe was headed for the shadows underneath the arches on the left hand building.

His feet slowed as he approached the shadows, and he slipped under an arch. Sander followed, trying to make as little noise as possible. In the dim light, he saw Robbe tap his nose and point further in. When they came upon a door, Robbe held up his hand, and then Sander could hear it too. Voices. Many voices. They were coming from inside. Sander could just pick out snippets of dialogue.

“Our forces are strong enough…”

“...we need to act quickly…”

“The Conclave….tomorrow…”

“...gather...trees...Eiffel Tower…”

“...attack…”

“Tell the others”

Robbe looked up at Sander, and as their eyes met, he knew Robbe had also heard and understood. His eyes were wide, his face drained of color. With a quick gesture, Robbe indicated that they back away. 

When they were a good fifteen meters away, he whispered, “We need back up. We need to tell the Clave. We have to go.”

“Oh no, _click click_ little Shadowhunter, _click_ you won’t be going anywhere,” said a high-pitched voice.

Sander and Robbe turned around quickly and found themselves face to face with a Mantid demon, its long, razored legs already reaching toward them, sharp teeth gnashing. It screeched, and then leaped straight at Robbe. Robbe’s seraph blade flashed and severed one of its legs. As Robbe lunged at it again, Sander heard a crash behind him. The Mantid’s scream had alerted the plotting demons to their presence, and they had blasted through the door and were now hurtling towards them.

Robbe’s eyes grew wide. He yelled, “Run!” at Sander, and then stabbing the Mantid through the eye, he took off after him.

“There’s too many of them. We need to warn the Clave. You head for the Institute, and I’ll draw them off.”

“Not a chance, Robbe,” Sander puffed out. “There’s too many of them. We have to stick together.” 

Sander looked over his shoulder briefly and saw Robbe’s slight nod of reluctant agreement. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two groups of demons. A dozen demons were headed out of the courtyard towards the Tuileries. The other group, about fifteen or so, were following them.

Robbe caught up with Sander, tapped him on the shoulder, and handed him another knife. He then pulled a third dagger from his waist, which was a good thing too because a second later a demon fell to the ground in front of them with a thud. 

Sander and Robbe skidded to a stop. The demon was huge with a round belly full of teeth. A leathery winged-demon had dropped it from the sky, and it still looked slightly dazed. 

Robbe gazed over his shoulder, taking in the demons following them. His mouth set into a firm line, and his eyes took on a grim, determined look. In an authoritative tone, he said, “Take fatty here, and anyone else who gets away from me.” Leaving Sander with the mouth-stomach demon, he ran headlong at the approaching demons. 

Sander quickly turned his attention to the demon, who had just begun to move towards him. He held a knife in each hand and shifted his weight to his toes, preparing to fight.

A broad, muscular arm shot out, aiming for Sander’s face. He ducked and rolled to the left. He landed on his elbows and knees, daggers still gripped in his fists. He slashed out with his right, connecting with the demon’s ankle. It howled and lunged at him, leading with its bloated jaws. Three rows of teeth snapped at Sander’s head, and he rolled again, pushing himself up into a crouch, arms up. 

He lunged at the demon and swiped both blades at the space above its mouth where its eyes should be. The demon’s head flew back in pain, and Sander took the advantage and stabbed his blades below the demon’s mouth, pulling them out to the sides in a T, essentially cutting the demon’s throat. Ichor splattered everywhere, and as the demon screamed, its large arm swung around and bashed Sander on the head, flinging him about ten feet.

He landed in a heap near the lip of one of the decorative fountains. Before he could think clearly, the demon was upon him, grabbing his ankle with its meaty hand and pulling him in. With a groan, he whipped himself around and sat up, so he was being pulled on his rear. He leaned forward and stabbed at the arm with both daggers. It let go, but the opposite arm came around in a wide arc. 

Sander punched at it with the knife in his left hand while he ducked under and swung about to stab it in the back with his right. 

The demon shuddered, and Sander brought his left dagger to stab the same spot. In a convulsing jiggle, the demon exploded into a splash of dark ichor. Sander turned, protecting his face. He spied Robbe about thirty meters away fighting at least ten demons. He really was a beauty to behold. Grace and speed in motion, pure athleticism. Sander marveled at his ability to face down so many demons with only a seraph blade and a dagger, both of which were covered in ichor.

The demons had backed him up against the large glass pyramid. After stabbing another Mantid in the face, ichor splattering the shining glass, Robbe faced the pyramid and sprinted up the side at an angle. As soon as he was out of reach of the demons, he pushed against the glass and back flipped to the ground.

Landing in a crouch, seraph blade drawn, he then ran towards two Iblis demons blocking his exit. He flipped over the first, dragging his seraph blade across its back, leaving a long gash that oozed ichor. He landed lightly and immediately rolled sideways toward the other one, stabbing it backhanded through the eye with his dagger. He elbowed it in the face to release his dagger, and threw it at the other demon, hitting it in the eye. Both demons dissolved into ichor, and he stood up and retrieved his soggy weapon. 

Across the courtyard, they locked eyes. Robbe’s chin jutted toward the exit, and he started running. Sander quickly followed, angling towards him from the left, the demons in hot pursuit.

What happened next seemed to happen in a dream. Sander saw the Mantid demon sneak up behind Robbe from a deep recess on the right. He saw it stab Robbe with its razor-sharp foreleg. He saw Robbe crumple. He felt himself scream and run faster towards Robbe, hands pulling at his hair in panic and pure anguish, and then he saw a flash of light. He felt more than saw the power behind that light, pulsating out in a circle around him. He felt the heat radiating from his head, could see the white-hot glow emanating from his hair. The flash of light slammed into the demons, hitting them like a lightning bolt and knocking them over. None of them disappeared, but none of them got up.

Life returned to real time as Sander fell to his knees next to Robbe. He pulled Robbe’s head into his lap and rotated his body so that he could see the wound. The Mantid had stabbed Robbe below his ribcage on his right side. The wound was deep, and the skin was torn and jagged. Robbe was losing blood quickly. 

Sander patted his cheek, “Robbe! Robbe! Hey! _Iratze_. Robbe, you need to give yourself an _iratze_ right now. And a blood replenishing one if you can manage it.” Robbe’s eyes fluttered a bit. “C’mon Robbe! I’ll help you, but I need you to be conscious. I can’t do it for you. Please Robbe!” Sander begged, tears streaming down his face, hands shaking as he searched Robbe’s pockets for his stele.

He found it in his back left pocket. Putting it in Robbe’s hand, he pulled his hoodie up further and wrapped his fingers around Robbe’s. “Robbe! Stay with me! Help me,” he begged again. “I’ll hold your hand while you draw. I’ll help. Please. I need you.” His voice cracked on the last word, as sobs ripped out of his chest. He couldn’t control them. His whole body was shaking.

His grief was so loud in his ears he almost missed the quiet, “Okay,” that ghosted from Robbe’s lips. 

When it registered, it shocked him into silence. He felt Robbe’s grip tighten minutely on the stele. “Okay,” he breathed slowly, trying to calm his panic. “ _iratze_ first.” He pressed the stele into the skin above his left hip and guided the point into the shape of an _iratze_. Nothing happened. “Robbe,” he said, trying to sound calm, “I need you to grip the stele harder and at least try to move your hand a little.”

Sander had no idea if this would work. How conscious did a Shadowhunter need to be to apply runes? Did his touch negate the rune’s power? Sander wasn’t even sure he could truly help, if that was even in the laws of nature. He just knew he had to try.

Again, Robbe gripped the stele a little more firmly, and Sander said, “Good, baby, good. Let’s try again.” He pressed the tip to his hip again and drew an _iratze_. The rune flashed gold briefly and then disappeared. He looked at Robbe’s wound. Did it look better? He couldn’t tell.

“Let’s do that again.” They tried again. The same thing happened, a brief flash and then gone, but after the third try Sander could see that the wound looked a little better. “You’re doing great, baby. It’s getting better. You’re going to be okay.” Robbe managed a small smile and moment of eye contact. Sander’s heart soared, his chest filling with warmth. Small though those movements were, they were a far cry from his pale and unconscious state a few moments before. 

They drew two more _iratzes_ before Sander tried a blood replenishing rune. That one flashed gold for much longer and did not disappear. Robbe’s coloring also improved, and he breathed easier. That rune, at least, had worked properly.

The _iratzes_ , however, were not working properly. Each one helped a little, but the wound would not close. Sander tried one more time, this time putting all of his energy, all of his love for Robbe, all of his belief in Robbe and himself and their future into the rune. He imagined sending a line of love from his heart to his hand and then drew with his heart, his love. This time the rune glowed gold for about ten seconds before disappearing. That seemed promising.

As Sander started to inspect the wound again, he noticed movement around them. The demons were waking up. 

Leaving the wound as-is, he pocketed Robbe’s stele and grabbed his seraph blade, and then apologizing to him as he did so, he picked him up, draping Robbe’s arm over his shoulders and wrapping his arm around his back. 

Miraculously, Robbe was able to hold himself up a little. He stumbled and hung heavy against Sander, but he put one foot in front of the other. They moved as quickly as they could back toward the Tuileries.

As they entered the garden, Sander’s eyes darted around looking for a place to hide. Robbe needed rest, and they needed a plan. He spied a copse of dense bushes about thirty meters to the left, and then stumbled towards it. He half threw, half dragged Robbe into the foliage, and they collapsed together for a moment, breathing heavily.

After a few moments, he sat up, supporting Robbe with his shoulder and consciously tried to control his breathing and eliminate any noise. Robbe’s eyes looked glassy, shrouded in pain, and the red stain at his side continued to grow; but being a Shadowhunter, he already had his breath under control, and his hand unconsciously gripped the dagger tighter. 

They heard the demons pass by much sooner than he thought they would, but thankfully they’d been far enough ahead that they weren’t looking for them so nearby. The demons must not have known they’d only just missed them. Amidst the clicking, slurping, and hissing sounds, he heard a voice say, “We have to find them, or tomorrow will be ruined. Spread the word.” 

Sander realized he was holding his breath when he nearly gasped out loud at their words. Instead he remained silent, waiting several minutes after they passed to even breathe normally, and though he was worried about Robbe, he forced himself to stay quiet for even longer. 

Eventually, he allowed himself to relax a little and gave Robbe’s shoulder a little shake. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay,” he whispered. “Talk to me, Robin. I’m going to text Lucas. What should we do?”

“Weapons,” he gasped out. “We need….better weapons. They’re not going to give up. We need to be able to fight them.” 

“Okay, weapons,” Sander murmured while pulling out his phone.

Friday 21:35

Sander: Demon attack at Louvre

Sander: Robbe’s hurt. It’s bad.

Sander: We’re hiding in a bush, but they’re looking for us.

Sander: We need weapons. Closest church?

Lucas: Oh shit. Umm

Lucas: Still near the Louvre?

Sander: Yes

Lucas: Head to Notre-Dame. It’s the closest. I’ll grab my gear and meet you at the Pont Saint-Louis. 

Lucas: It’s just me. The Conclave is at an exercise until Sunday. 

Lucas: See you soon

Notre-Dame was closest. How ironic. Sander had so desperately wanted to visit the Cathedral, but it was closed due to restoration for the fire. He was actually going to see inside, just not the way he’d wanted--as a tourist having a grand time with his boyfriend.

Instead, they were in a mad dash for their lives. Robbe was only partially lucid, and Sander was about to not only break into the church but also desecrate the altar to find a hidden stash of weapons. Great.

The world’s religions aided Shadowhunters in their fight against demons, so caches of weapons could be found in almost any religious establishment, particularly the older, larger ones like Notre-Dame. 

Sander put his phone back in his pocket and pulled Robbe to face him. Cupping Robbe’s cheek, he lifted his head and forced Robbe to meet his eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, “Look at me.” He shifted the arm supporting Robbe, and Robbe wobbled a little. Trying to project confidence, he tried again, “Hey, look at me,” and he connected their eyes. “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. We’ll go to Notre-Dame for weapons, and Lucas is going to meet us at the Saint-Louis bridge. Let’s look at your wound one more time before we go. Maybe another _iratze_?”

Sander lifted Robbe’s hoodie again and looked at the angry red puncture. It did look better. Not healed, not closed, but better. 

“Now that you’re more conscious, let’s do one more, eh?” he suggested to Robbe. He pulled the stele out and handed it to him.

“Okay. One more and then we go.” He lifted his left sleeve and drew an _iratze_ on his forearm. Again, it flashed gold briefly and disappeared.

Disappointment flooded Sander. It must have shown on his face because Robbe weakly squeezed his knee. “I think,” he said deliberately, like it took a lot of effort, “that there must have been some kind of poison or venom involved. This doesn’t feel like a normal wound, and the _iratzes_ aren’t working properly.”

“Oh shit,” Sander exclaimed. It took less than two seconds for his mind to flood with the terrible implications of that statement, but then he felt hopeful. “But,” he said, remembering, “One of them lasted ten seconds.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I focused on my love for you and visualized it going from my hand into the rune, and it didn’t go away as fast.” He paused, thoughtful, “Let me try one more time.”

“Fine,” Robbe said resolutely, “But then we have to go.”

Robbe placed the stele against the skin of his forearm again, and Sander wrapped his hand around Robbe’s. “Robbe, you try it too. Think about us. We’ll do it together,” he suggested.

He nodded, and Sander closed his eyes. Once again, he focused on Robbe and how much he loved him, how much he needed him, how important he was, how amazing he was. They drew the rune together while Sander burnt his whole heart into Robbe’s skin. When they finished, he opened his eyes and gazed at the rune. It was bright gold, and it stayed that way for nearly half a minute.

Sander sighed with relief. “See, it’s always better together.”

Robbe’s fingers touched his face, eyes gazing up at him in awe. “I didn’t know we could do that,” he said. “I honestly don’t think we should have been able to do that. How did we do that?” 

Sander didn’t even know he was crying until Robbe wiped his tears away with his thumb. He sniffed. With his heart full, he answered truthfully, “Because we’re that amazing, baby.”

Robbe gave him a dopey smile, and he was sure his was just as soppy.

“Okay,” he said, kissing Robbe’s fingers and then wiping away the rest of his tears with the back of his hand. “Let me see it one more time, and then we go.”

Robbe helpfully pulled up his hoodie, the drying blood making it a little stiffer than before. The wound was still open, but it no longer looked like a gaping hole. A yellow puss trickled out, but the bleeding had mostly stopped. 

Sander gripped the bottom of his t-shirt and ripped it until he had a strip long enough to wrap around Robbe’s waist a few times. “Pressure,” he said, “We’re going to have to do this the Mundane way.” He gingerly wrapped the fabric around his waist and tied it off over the wound. “Hopefully that will keep you together until we can get it checked out. Do you think you can fight?”

Even though the healing rune had helped significantly, Robbe’s face still looked pained, his eyes red with exhaustion, but as expected, he said. “Of course. When the time comes, I’ll be ready. Trust me.”

“I do. With my heart and my life.”

“Still so sappy,” he mocked, but his smile belied his words.

“Always. Now let’s go!” He took Robbe’s hand and pulled him out of the bushes, and they jogged towards the Cathedral of Notre-Dame.

They crossed the Seine at the Pont d’Arcole and tried to remain in the shadows as they continued jogging toward the church. Soon, the Cathedral loomed large in the dark ahead of them, made even bigger by the webbing of scaffolding that surrounded it. They turned left on Rue du Cloître-Notre-Dame and jogged along the fence, looking for an entrance. They found a large door hidden beneath the scaffolding and leaped over a metal fence before weaving through the steel cross pieces. Robbe drew an opening rune, and the aged, rusty lock clicked open. It took both of them to push open the heavy door, and they closed it as quietly as they could behind them. 

They found themselves in the north transept. The inside was dusty and dirty from construction, and much of the walls and statuary were covered in plastic. Getting their bearings they turned to the left and headed towards the altar. Sander went left, and Robbe took the right side, both looking for the Nephilim rune on the floor and walls.

After a minute, Robbe called out, pointing to a spot on the black and white tile. Sander ran over and saw a small rune in the north corner of a white tile. Robbe pulled out his stele and drew a strength rune on his stomach. Then he lifted his seraph blade and brought the hilt of it down on the runic marking. The floor cracked. He hammered at it four more times before the tile broke loose and revealed a long narrow box, buried vertically underneath.

Together they pulled the box from the recess, and using another opening rune, Robbe broke the lock and opened it. Inside were about a dozen assorted swords and seraph blades, a bow and quiver, several daggers, a whip, and a mace. Robbe immediately grabbed the whip and tied it around his waist and then pulled three seraph blades, the bow and arrow, and two daggers from the box. As he outfitted himself, Sander reached in and pulled out two short swords and the rest of the daggers. Peering hopefully inside, he also spied a weapons belt and hastily put it on, attaching his new and old daggers. He slid one short sword into a loop at his waist and hefted the other in his right hand as he stood. 

“I think we’re ready,” Robbe said, gazing at Sander with pride. “If we weren’t in a hurry, I’d tell you how devastatingly sexy you look all decked out in weapons and covered in ichor.”

Sander winked. “It’s a good thing we don’t have time then.” 

Robbe smirked, pleased, and then looked down at the floor. He’d returned the box to the hole, but the floor could not be fixed. The white tile lay in pieces. “I feel bad,” he said mournfully. “This place is already a mess.”

“I know, but they want you to kill demons, right? That’s what this is for. They’ll forgive us.” He patted him on the back.

Robbe shrugged, “Probably. Let’s go.”

They left the way they came in, again closing the door behind them. They jumped the fence and headed towards the bridge. Just as they arrived, Sander’s phone vibrated, but he didn’t need to check it because they saw Lucas standing in the middle of the bridge. 

Lucas ran to them. “What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay? I see you found weapons.”

Sander eyed Robbe to see if he would answer, but he’d already collapsed and was leaning against the side of the bridge near Sander’s feet, head resting on the wall, chin tilted to the sky, eyes closed. Sander decided to let him rest and catch his breath.

“We were attacked at the Louvre. Wait--sort of. Robbe smelled demons when we got there, so we sought them out. But when we found them, they were having some kind of meeting. There were so many of them. Lucas,” he paused for emphasis, “They were organized. There’s a plan to attack tomorrow. Somewhere near the Eiffel Tower, and it sounds like they have an army.”

Lucas hissed, sucking in his breath. “They knew,” he whispered. “They knew the Conclave wouldn’t be here. Somehow they knew.” He looked worried.

“Anyway, we were sneaking away to tell the Clave when a demon spotted us and set up the alarm. Fighting, blah blah, and Robbe got stabbed by a Mantid. And then I--and then--” he stopped himself. He hadn’t had time to think until now, but what had actually happened? Flashes of light. Power. Lightning. Hot, glowing hair. Sander frowned, confused.

“Sander, baby, what is it?” Robbe asked. “I passed out from pain and woke up in your arms. What hap...” he trailed off, realizing. “The demons...How?” He too looked confused.

“I...I honestly...don’t know what happened,” he stammered. “I saw Robbe get stabbed, and I screamed and ran for him; and the next thing I know my hair is glowing and hot and blasts of lightning or something flashed out at the demons. They didn’t move for a while. Maybe five minutes. I dragged you away when they started twitching. Robbe,” panic filled his eyes, “I don’t know what I did or how, but it saved you. If...if I hadn’t…” He couldn’t say the words.

Robbe reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I know. It doesn’t matter right now. I’m just grateful it happened. Like everything else, we’ll figure it out together. For now, I say we head to the Institute to regroup and maybe call for backup.”

“I agree about backup. I’m going to text Jens,” Sander suggested. He knew Robbe needed him. Jens was his rock, and having him around would automatically make Robbe feel better. Not to mention, Jens would kill him if he failed to tell him Robbe was injured.

“I was thinking more Clave-like back up, but my _Parabatai_ is good too,” Robbe said with an eye roll.

Sander saw Lucas blanch and thought _hmmmm, interesting_ as he texted. 

Friday 22:20

Sander: Robbe’s been hurt. Demon attack

Sander: Conclave not here

Sander: Robbe needs you and we need back up

Sander: Demons are planning an attack tomorrow

Jens: wtf, I let him out of my sight for one week!

Jens: Fuck. I just missed the last train

Jens: I’ll be there by 9 tomorrow 

Jens: Earlier if I can get a portal or borrow a car

Jens: And I’m screenshotting this

Jens: You NEED me

Sander: I said we

Jens: Who’s we?

Sander: Lucas is here too

Jens: Shit

Sander: 😘

Jens: Bastard

Jens: I’ll be there as soon as I can

Sander squatted down in front of Robbe, a furrow of concern wrinkling his eyebrows, and asked, “You okay? How are you doing? Be honest.”

“It hurts, and I’m more tired than I should be.” Robbe even allowed himself a grimace of pain, which revealed far more to Sander than his words. “I’m trying to ignore it. I think I’m okay for now.”

Sander kissed his forehead. “It’ll be okay. You’ve got me, and Jens is on his way. We now have Lucas and better weapons. I like our odds,” a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. He clasped Robbe’s hand and pulled him up.

Robbe leaned against Sander briefly and rubbed his nose into his shoulder, eventually kissing it lightly. Stealing himself with breath, he stood taller and said, “Let’s head out. Lucas, lead the way!” 

Lucas threw them a bright smile and dashed off across the bridge. Sander and Robbe followed. When Robbe stumbled, Sander grabbed his elbow and held on as they traveled the streets of Île Saint-Louis.

Everything was quiet while they crossed the island, but Robbe and Lucas both stiffened and stopped as they stepped onto the Pont Marie. Suddenly alert, Sander rotated his head side to side, seeking what they had already sensed. 

“Over there,” whispered Lucas, pointing to the shadows beneath the trees up ahead on the left. There were dark figures moving among the trunks.

“There too,” whispered Robbe, pointing to the trees on the other side of the road. A car drove past, and its light shone on them briefly, revealing large, dark bodies with red and yellow eyes. “I saw maybe eight on the right, so we’re probably looking at fifteen or more.”

“Sander, how are you with a bow?” Lucas asked, eyebrows furrowed, clearly working out a plan.

“Adequate. I’ve been working with Jens for a year now, so I can hit more than I miss. Nothing special, though, so you can’t fully rely on me,” he grimaced.

“It’s okay. All right,” he looked resolved. “Robbe, give Sander the bow. You go right. I’ll take the left since we don’t know how many are over there. Sander, stay on the bridge. Once you run out of arrows, go help wherever you think is best. Good?” He asked, looking at them.

Sander nodded, and Robbe had already started taking off the bow and quiver. Sander took them and draped the quiver over his shoulder. “Okay, good,” Lucas said, turning towards the trees. 

“Wait!” Sander called softly. Sander grasped the front of Robbe’s hoodie and pulled him into a deep kiss, slamming their open mouths together and entangling their tongues briefly. Pulling back he found Robbe’s eyes and whispered, “I love you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Sincerity in his eyes, Robbe rested their foreheads together momentarily and responded, “You too.” Then he pecked Sander on the cheek and took off down the bridge, Lucas following slightly behind on the left. 

Sander hefted the bow and looked around the bridge, trying to find the best vantage point to help Robbe and Lucas. The bridge was flat, so he decided to stand on the stone retaining wall on the left about halfway down the bridge, thinking that might give him the best angle to support Robbe. He jogged across the street and leaped up onto the wall, placing his shortsword in front of him, ready when he needed it. He then pulled an arrow and waited.

Nothing happened right away. Both Lucas and Robbe had slowed as they neared the trees. They stood about four meters apart, backs toward one another, weapons held aloft. Robbe had unwound the whip while running, and he now held it in his left hand with his seraph blade in his right. Lucas stood confidently, weight on his toes, knees soft, holding a seraph blade in each hand, a longer sword on his back.

The demons exploded from the trees on the left first. Sander instinctively let an arrow fly and hit the one that had flown from the branches. It fell and splattered in a pile of ichor as he pulled and knocked another arrow. 

Lucas leapt at the lead demons, seraph blades flashing in all directions. He lunged, rolled, and flipped, moving so quickly that Sander had to concentrate his arrows on the demons further away. He let loose three shots before he saw Robbe in his peripheral vision, engaged with three demons while several others tried to flank him at a distance. Sander aimed and shot three more arrows, hitting two of the demons trying to stay out of the range of Robbe’s whip.

The whip flashed in a wide arc, slashing the three closest demons across their faces, necks, and arms. Robbe advanced on the smallest one with his seraph blade while bringing his whip down to keep the others at bay. He slashed the demon across the neck with his blade, and it collapsed. He turned, circling his whip and slicing it across the next demon’s narrow, tube-like belly. Spinning in mid-air, he kicked the demon in the face, and then whipping around again, he sliced at its midsection with his blade, cutting it in two. 

He turned to focus on the third demon, and Sander saw two more demons closing in on him from the left. He knocked an arrow, and, since they were so close to Robbe, he took extra time to aim. He hit one of the demons on the forehead, knocking it back on its rear before it crumbled. He missed the other, and Robbe had to duck and roll sideways to get away. 

Robbe was now fighting two demons face on while several more prowled out of reach. Sander took a moment to check on Lucas and found him engaged with two Mantid demons. His hand held onto the lamp post, and his body swung around it like he was in _Singin’ in the Rain._ His legs kicked out, slamming into both demons, and the seraph blade in his free hand arced around, slicing off the Mantids' long limbs. 

After his third rotation, his feet hit the ground only to leap up again to use the retaining wall as a springboard to fly at the demons. He landed on the back of the first, driving his blade into its skull, and then using the dying Mantid’s shoulders, he sprung at the second one, wrapping his arms around its neck and then swinging his legs under its arm to wrap them around its opposite shoulder and neck from beneath. He then released his hands and jabbed it in the back with his seraph blade while stabbing it through the back of the head with the dagger he’d pulled from his belt. 

As the Mantid fell, dissolving into ichor, Lucas tucked into a ball and rolled away, landing in a crouch. In less than a second, he focused on a new target, three Iblis demons, and took off at a run.

Sander aimed and hit one of them, then turned his attention to the newly arrived demons flying between Robbe and Lucas. He hit the first one in the wing, merely annoying it and alerting them to his presence. All three demons turned to face him and flapped in his direction.

He quickly knocked another arrow and aimed for the lead demon, hitting this one. It fell and slid five meters before becoming a pile of ichor. The other two barreled down on him. He was able to get off another shot but missed completely. The fastest one slammed into him, knocking him off the wall and stabbing him under his collar bone with its sharp, beaked mouth. He cried out in pain, but keeping his wits intact, he grabbed the demon’s leg with his left hand and held it tight against him. He then pulled a blade from his belt with his right hand and stabbed the demon in the back three times. 

Ichor spilled all over Sander’s front, and the demon went limp. He threw it off and stood up, seeking out the last one. It circled overhead, eyeing him with buggy, red eyes. It banked to the left and then made a swift turn, heading directly for Sander. He pulled an arrow and without aiming let it fly at the demon. 

The demon slammed into him, knocking him to the ground again. This time, however, there was no sharp pain. It lay limply on his chest, the arrow having gone clear through its torso.

Sander let out a breath of relief and let himself lie back for a second before rolling over and pushing the smelly mass off of him. He stood and checked on Lucas and Robbe.

They were back to back in the middle of the entrance to the bridge. Robbe’s whip flashed like lightning, but Sander could tell he was exhausted. He lacked his normal confident, upright posture, and his arms moved like they were wading through water. Lucas’s blade whipped around behind him, but there were just too many of them.

Sander reached back to his quiver and found he only had three arrows left. This wasn’t going to work, he realized. They were far too outnumbered.

With resolve, he let all three arrows fly, blessedly hitting his targets, though not killing all of them. He then snatched up his short sword and sprinted toward the Shadowhunters. Halfway there, a demon rushed out of the throng on Lucas’s side and attacked, but Sander sliced and stabbed at it with great speed and kept moving. 

One look at Robbe’s face when he approached, and he knew things were worse than he’d thought. Only sheer will and Nephilim superior strength were keeping him upright. His face was ashen, full of pain. His right arm now hung limp and empty, but he still kept the demons at bay with his whip.

Sander took Lucas’s place at Robbe’s back so that he could more freely attack the demons. Lucas leaped out into the fray and disappeared amidst the mass of dark forms. Sander slashed and stabbed any body part that came near him, but he started to panic. His eyes darted around for an exit strategy, but he did not see one.

They were trapped. Robbe would lose consciousness soon, and Sander was no Shadowhunter. Lucas couldn’t defeat all these demons alone. His mind worked furiously. What had he done earlier? What had triggered the lightning hair? Could he do it again?

He focused on his hair. Nothing happened. He tried thinking about lightning, demons, and glowing hair. Nothing. He tried visualizing his hair shooting out lightning. Nope.

He felt Robbe slip at his back, and he reached back with his left hand to help keep him upright. Sander could now only fight with one hand, and he could already tell that holding Robbe upright was a losing battle. 

As if the demons could read his mind, they advanced on Robbe. His whip still flew wildly, but it lacked its earlier snap. A long arm snuck under it and grabbed his ankle, yanking him to the ground and away from Sander. The whip flew out of his hand and lay motionless.

Sander staggered for a moment, as his balance adjusted to Robbe’s absence. He pivoted to find him, and seeing him being dragged away, he threw his body across Robbe’s.

In the next instant, he felt a familiar heat erupt from his head. The sweaty, white strands stuck to his forehead were glowing, and he could feel power build within him. A flash of white light shot from his hair, extending out in a ring around them. Every demon it hit flew back and fell to the ground. 

When Sander looked up, he saw a circle of dark bodies surrounding him with Lucas standing tall on the ledge, his sword still raised and a shocked, bewildered expression upon his face.

Sander gave Robbe a quick once over. He was still breathing, and his eyes were half open. Confident that he’d be fine for now, Sander called Lucas over, and they started striking down the unconscious demons.

“We’ve got about five minutes, maybe,” he said. “That is, if it’s like last time.”

Lucas severed the head of a Dahak demon, and mused, “I’d almost feel bad. You know, we’re killing them while they’re asleep, but then I remember they’re demons, so…”

“Right now, I have no moral qualms,” Sander said while hastily hacking at demons. “We need to get Robbe to the Silent Brothers. We think his wound has some kind of poison in it. The _iratzes_ aren’t really working.”

“Oh shit. I figured it was just taking a while.”

“No. It’s really bad.” He stabbed at another demon and watched it disintegrate. “I almost lost him. I honestly don’t know how he’s still alive. He shouldn’t be.” Sander choked on his inhale, the full realization just coming to him. His eyes misted over, and he swung blindly at the cloudy mass of demon below him. Ichor splattered everywhere, so he figured he’d been accurate enough.

Robbe was alive, but only because of luck and a whole lot of unexplained weirdness. Sander’s hair could knock out demons, and he’d somehow enhanced the potency of an angelic rune. Both ideas were preposterous on their own, but both of them happening in one night; and being the sole reason that, if he was honest, either of them was still alive, was absolutely baffling. What on earth was going on?

Sander’s emotions were threatening to bubble over. He needed to get a grip if for no other reason than he could not have a breakdown until Robbe was safe. He took a moment, bent forward, placing his hands on his knees, and took deep breaths with his eyes closed. Once he felt in control again, he returned his attention to sending the demons back to hell.

After Lucas killed the final demon, they hoisted Robbe up and supported him between them, their arms around his waist and his arms over their shoulders. Robbe’s legs supported him a little, but they weren’t able to move too quickly. As they trudged through the streets, Lucas sent a fire message to the Silent Brothers, requesting that someone meet them at the Institute. 

All Sander could do was put one foot in front of the other and be content that Robbe was still alive and conscious. He took comfort in the solidness of Robbe’s body and tried to stay focused on getting him to safety.

Their arrival at the Institute was just as quiet as the Silent Brother waiting for them. Brother Shadrach stood in the Sanctuary, hands clasping elbows within his grey robes. The scars on his face stood out against his pale skin, and his sewn lips were just as disturbing to Sander now as they were the first time he had seen a Silent Brother.

A quiet monotone spoke in his head, “What has happened? Tell me as we ascend to the infirmary.” Silent Brothers spoke telepathically, and while Sander had expected this, the flat voice that sounded in his head was still disconcerting.

Helping Lucas support Robbe as they climbed the stairs, he described the events of the day, focusing on Robbe’s injury and the failed runes. When he mentioned that he helped Robbe draw the runes, Brother Shadrach turned to him, and when he explained how he helped the rune work better, he could feel the Silent Brother’s unseeing eyes bore into him. Brother Shadrach was surprised, and if Sander wasn’t mistaken, a little disconcerted. 

Sander tried to gloss over his lightning hair, but Brother Shadrach insisted that he describe exactly what happened and how it affected the demons. His only response when Sander finished was to say, “You have had an eventful evening. I will attend to young IJzermans and alert the Clave about the threat tomorrow. For now, I’d like you both to leave the room so that I may examine the patient.”

Lucas helped Sander lay Robbe onto the first bed. Robbe clasped Sander’s hand and pulled him in weakly, kissing his knuckles and then his lips. “I’ll be okay,” he said. “I promise. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m already worried,” Sander responded. Robbe’s skin was pallid, his eyes sunken, and his breathing uneven. He was actually very worried. 

“Then try not to worry too much.”

“I’ll try,” he lied, kissing both of his cheeks. He held Robbe’s gaze until he closed the door. 

Once in the hallway, Lucas asked, “Hungry?”

“Sure,” only agreeing because it would provide a distraction.

As they walked to the kitchen, Lucas ventured, “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen Shadowhunters fully recover from much worse. Robbe is strong, and Brother Shadrach is knowledgeable. He should be fine”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Me too. Me too.”

They walked in silence for a while. Lucas broke it as they entered the kitchen, “You did well tonight. Really well.”

“I--” he hesitated, not sure what to say.

“You held your own. You supported him. You were there for him. You fought well and thought clearly under duress.”

“I--uh, thank you,” he said a little shyly, ducking his chin. Such praise was unexpected to say the least. “It’s honestly been his greatest worry, that I would get hurt because of him. How the tables have turned!” His left hand rubbed at his face, and he let his mouth gape open as his fingers dragged along his jaw. “Now, he’s the one who’s injured, not me.”

“True, yeah, but he’s a Shadowhunter. It goes with the territory. He expects to be injured and have close calls. You do not,” Lucas said kindly. “You said you’d been training with Jens. Is that why?”

“Yeah. He and Jens have been training me since we started dating. We knew things were serious right away, and he worried that he’d draw me into danger. He wanted to make sure I could defend myself. I was very resistant, especially at first. I’m an artist, not a warrior--Oh no!” he groaned. “He’s going to be insufferable!”

Lucas laughed briefly, “I don’t follow. Why?”

“Because,” Sander moaned dramatically, “He was right, and he’ll never let me forget it. I’ll have to train twice as much now. Ugh!” He threw up his hands for emphasis.

Lucas’s face split into a grin, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “He was right, though.” Sander shot him a dirty look. “Alright, alright,” he rolled his eyes, lifting his hands to his chest, palms out, signalling that he’d given up, “Why don’t you tell me about him? How you met?”

Sander knew he was trying to distract him, but he was happy to talk about Robbe--though he might have left out a few details about how they met, namely the provocative nature of the painting.

As he spoke, Lucas pulled crackers from the pantry and cheese and marmalade from the refrigerator. They shared the food and let the conversation wander.

“So, what about you?” Sander eventually asked. His knees had started to bounce anxiously, and he needed to change the subject.

“What about me?”

“Do you have anyone? Here or at home?”

Lucas blushed, hand nervously lifting to run through his curls. “Umm, no. Definitely no.”

“Why ‘definitely’? That seems like an unnecessary qualifier if the answer is no,” Sander pried.

Lucas turned an even darker shade of red, the tint travelling to the tips of his ears. “I--um, actually. Uhh..”

Sander smiled kindly and clapped him on the back. “You don’t have to explain or share anything you don’t want. It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not that,” he started. “Well, kinda. It’s just-- I’m not really out yet, so it’s kind of hard to, you know, um, date.”

“Oh, so Jens has a chance!” Sander exclaimed, eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“Ummm,” he blushed again, turning his head away with a nervous giggle.

Sander put his hand on his shoulder. “Sorry. Sorry. Perhaps Robbe has rubbed off on me more than I knew,” he said with a wry grin. “Hey. Hey.” He pulled Lucas back to look at him. “You told me, though. Thank you,” he said earnestly, “For sharing that with me. And it’s a foot out of the door, right?"

“Well, I guess it’s a little easier to tell someone who hasn’t known me forever, even if he is my new BFF,” Lucas winked. 

Sander squeezed his shoulder and removed his hand. “Truly, though, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That was not my intent. You’ve been very kind to try to distract me from worrying.”

“It’s okay, I promise. I’m fine. It’s liberating, really. Still not sure how to handle the Jens thing, but--” he shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Well, Jens will be here soon, The best thing I can do is warn you that yes, he is always like that, and grumpy is his main personality trait.

“You make him sound so wonderful.” 

Sander chuckled; but his knees had begun bouncing again, and his hands fidgeted anxiously. “He’s actually not that bad. He’s a good friend, usually,” he smirked to himself, “ And an excellent Shadowhunter.” He looked pointedly at Lucas, “Don’t tell him I said that!”

Lucas barked out a laugh. “I won’t!”

“Good. Wouldn’t want him thinking I like him.” He stood up, shaking the nerves out of his arms and hands. “And now, I need to go check on Robbe. I can’t take it any longer.”

“Probably best. I’m going to go to bed. Do you want me to find you a room?”

“Nah, I’ll stay with Robbe, but thanks. G‘night!”

When he reached the infirmary, the door was still closed. He paced up and down the hallway, drowning in worries and questions. How was Robbe? How serious was it? When would he be allowed to see him? What on earth was going on with his hair? How had his hair attacked demons?

It was the last two questions that pulled him out of his head and put him back into action. He pulled out his phone and dialed a New York number.

“Ah, hello, Sander, my dreamy Fey friend. Why on earth are you calling me after midnight when you could be snuggling with your virile Shadowhunter?” a cheery voice answered the phone.

Sander coughed in slight embarrassment. “Really Magnus?”

“Takes one to know one?” Magnus ventured.

Sander shook his head, an incredulous smile growing on his face. “Well, to answer your question, that’s kind of why I’m calling. It’s more of a professional call today. I need your advice.”

“Ah, I see. Give me a second,” he said. Sander could hear voices in the background, and then he heard a door close. “How can I help you?”

Sander dove in headfirst, describing both hair incidents in as much detail as he could remember. Magnus asked pointed questions, and Sander tried to remember everything he thought and felt. He also mentioned the runes. He wasn’t sure if that was at all related or something Magnus would know about, but he figured he should cover all the bases just in case.

“Have you ever heard of anything like this? It’s been such a weird night. I feel like I don’t even know myself anymore.”

Magnus remained silent for a few moments. When he responded, he sounded thoughtful, “We already knew your magic was tied to your emotions. That’s obvious in how your hair reflects your mood and how you can capture emotions on paper; but this--this,” he trailed off.

“Is different,” Sander supplied.

“Yeah. I’ve never heard of anyone being able to knock out demons before, and I’ve never heard of magical glowing hair that shoots out a ring of lightning. But, that doesn’t mean anything. I may be hundreds of years old, but I am always amazed at what I don’t know.”

“The light part,” Magnus continued, “makes sense. Demons can only come out at night, so a flash of light, especially if it mimics sunlight, would affect them. I’m less surprised by that, though why they’re knocked out instead of killed, I don’t know. It’s the why and how that concerns me. In both cases, Robbe was in immediate danger?”

“Yes. The second time I tried to initiate it, but I couldn’t just do it. It happened on its own when the demon pulled Robbe away,” Sander said.

“And the first time was when you saw him fall?” Magnus asked.

“Yes. I was running when it happened.”

“Hmmm. In both cases, what were you feeling?”

Sander took a moment, considering his thoughts and actions. “Panic?” He suggested. “I thought I was going to lose him.”

“Sander, I think...it’s a protective response, like your magic goes into protective mode. Again, it’s all tied to your emotions. In your desire to protect Robbe, your magic attacked the threat. For demons, it was light. It’s possible a different threat would produce a different response. We can’t know yet.”

“That does sound more rational than thinking my hair had gone rogue. What about the heat and the glowing?”

“It’s the same concept as your mood hair. The magic reveals itself visually. The heat and glowing are just the power building up before the strike. I think. Again, I can’t be sure.”

“Do you think this is something I can learn to control? Could another emotion trigger it?”

“Possibly, and I don't know. We’ll have to experiment when you get home.”

“You’ll help?” Sander said hopefully, his heart lifting a bit.

“Of course I will, Sander. Of course. We’re friends, _and_ ,” he emphasized, “I always like to solve a new puzzle. It’ll be fun.”

“Thanks,” Sander sighed, his voice dripping in relief. “What about the runes?”

Magnus’s voice became immediately serious. “That, you shouldn’t have been able to do. As far as I know, a non-Shadowhunter has never been able to make runes.”

“I just helped. It was still Robbe’s angelic blood that made it work,” Sander countered quickly.

“But, you still shouldn’t have been able to affect it one way or the other. I think--” he hesitated, and Sander could hear him swallow. “I think you should keep this on the down low. I don’t think the Nephilim would like it.”

“Well, shit,” Sander intoned. “I already told Brother Shadrach when I explained Robbe’s situation and why he wasn’t dead. He did give me a funny look.”

“What’s done is done. You couldn’t keep that information from his healer. You did the right thing. The Silent Brothers are very secretive. They may not tell anyone, and as my husband is the Consul, I know the Clave won’t come after you. However, this is exactly the kind of thing the Clave would usually try to exploit or destroy. It would terrify the Cohort. We’ll just have to see how it plays out.”

“Yeah, Okay. Do you have any idea how I did it?” 

“Honestly,” Magnus said, “No, but I would guess it either has something to do with your depth of feeling for Robbe or the fact that your magic is tied to your feelings. It could be both. The Fey have the blood of angels and demons. Maybe a quarter of angel blood is enough for you to be able to focus your magic into runes. I just don’t know. It’s all a guess. We’ll need to experiment with it too. I’ll do my best to help you figure it out. If we know how or why it works, we’ll be more prepared to defend you should the need arise.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed, suddenly feeling very tired. “Thank you for your help.”

The tiredness must have been apparent in his voice because Magnus asked, “Do you feel better? Good enough to get some sleep now?”

“I do. Thank you, though I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I know Robbe is going to be okay.”

“No, I’d guess not. The worry is killer, isn’t it? A negative side effect of being with a Shadowhunter.”

“Yeah. He warned me, you know. This is the first time it’s been put to the test.”

“Does it change anything?” Magnus asked quizzically, like he already knew the answer.

“Of course not,” Sander answered quickly.

“See. Don’t beat yourself up about this, and don’t let him do it either. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just part of who you are together, and you’ve both accepted that.”

Sander smiled, his eyes misting over a little. “You’re right. Thanks again. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Magnus laughed. “Now go take care of your Shadowhunter.”

“I will, thanks, bye!”

While speaking with Magnus, Sander had paced up and down the hallway. A wave of exhaustion hit him as he turned to walk back towards the infirmary. They’d been up since about 09:00, and he’d been fueled by adrenaline for the last few hours. The relief he felt in solving at least one of his problems rushed through him, adding to his fatigue. 

He collapsed on the floor outside the infirmary, pulling his knees up and crossing his arms over them before resting his head on his arms. He let his eyes close. He did not sleep, as he could still feel the hard stone floor and wall, but he did rest, existing in a half-wakeful state of questions and imaginings. 

An immeasurable amount of time later, he heard a voice in his head, “Sander, you may see him now.”

He jolted out of his position, hitting his head on the wall behind him, legs sprawled out in front. Brother Shadrach stood at the open infirmary door. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” 

“You may see him now.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Sander asked hesitantly.

“Yes. He needs rest. The poison had entered his bloodstream, but I was able to draw it out. He will recover. You did well in helping revive him. I will return tomorrow. We have several things to discuss, but I will wait until you are rested.” Without another word, he strode down the hallway toward the stairwell.

“Uh, thank you, Brother Shadrach. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called after him.

Sander stood up and brushed himself off. The dim light barely illuminated the bed where Robbe lay. Sander approached him and reached out his hand, pushing Robbe’s hair off of his face and then running his fingers through it a few times. Robbe’s coloring had improved, a peachiness having returned to his skin. The lines around his face were smooth, completely relaxed, showing no evident pain. Sander let his fingertips trace lightly over his cheekbones, jawline, and forehead, marveling as always at his perfection. 

Upon seeing Robbe’s improved appearance, Sander finally allowed himself to feel the relief he had bottled up inside. He removed his ichor splattered, outer clothes, leaving only his t-shirt and boxers. He then crawled onto the bed and curled himself into Robbe’s side, sliding his arm across his chest to pull him closer. He rested his head on the pillow and stuck his nose in the place below Robbe’s ear. He took a deep inhale, relishing the familiar scent, and let the tears fall. He cried silently until he fell asleep, emotionally spent.

He woke up briefly when Jens arrived. Jens looked wrecked, clothes rumpled and eyes red from exhaustion. Lucas stood behind him in pajamas, clearly having answered the door and shown him in.

“Is he okay?” Jens asked.

“Yeah. He’s going to be fine.” Sander swallowed, trying to think. “What time is it?”

“About 04:00.”

“You’re early.”

“Yeah, Senne let me borrow his car.”

“Okay. Good. You look like shit.”

Jens balked, sputtering, “Wha-”

“Just climb in, you idiot,” Sander cut him off. 

Jens smiled in relief and collapsed onto the narrow bed on Robbe’s other side. It was a tight squeeze. Sander scooted over a little, pulling Robbe with him. To keep himself from falling off, he half rolled his right side on top of Robbe and curled his ankle over his shins. Jens fell asleep almost instantly, plainly comforted by the presence of his _Parabatai_. 

Sander took a moment to appreciate how ridiculous they must look, the three of them squished together on one tiny bed, Jens’s long, lanky limbs taking up too much space, but he also appreciated the beauty of the moment. Robbe was sandwiched between the two people he loved most. Sander’s heart filled with love and peace, and he snuggled back in.

Before falling back asleep, Sander managed to murmur a, “Night Lucas,” and vaguely saw him leave the room. 

  
  


“By the Angel, I’m so hot!”

“Yes, you are,” Sander murmured sleepily, digging his nose further into Robbe’s hair.

“No, I mean, I’m hot.”

“Mmhmm, I know.”

A “Shut up, Sander” came from the other side of the bed.

“No seriously, you big oafs, I’m sweating to death in here.”

Still not fully comprehending the situation, Sander heard a grunt, a thump, and a groan, followed by a peal of laughter. He then felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He sat up dazed and confused, looking around. 

A pile of clothes and limbs flapped around on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. Jens was sputtering and flopping around like a surprised fish, shocked at being elbowed out of bed. “What the--” he said, surprised, his voice indignant. 

Lucas laughed hysterically, practically falling out of the chair he’d been sitting in by the door. A sketchbook lay open and upside down where it had fallen on the floor by the chair while its pencil rolled away. Tears had formed in the corners of his eyes, and his curls were bouncing merrily around his face.

Jens registered the unfamiliar voice and blanched when he saw him. He staggered to his feet, rather ungracefully, tripping over his own pant leg and landing roughly on his knee before finally making it upright. He scowled, trying to look ferocious and only succeeding in looking like a gangly kitten.

Still dazed, Sander gazed around the room. Jens’s cheeks had reddened in embarrassment. Robbe stared at him with amusement. Lucas was trying not to laugh, but all he had succeeded in doing was choking on his own spit; so now he sputtered and coughed, tears streaming down his face as he tried to catch his breath.

“Well,” Sander said finally, breaking the tension, “Good morning?”

“Afternoon, actually,” coughed Lucas. Taking pity on him, Jens walked over and patted him on the back.

“I see you two have met,” Robbe said.

“Yes,” Lucas said, finally catching his breath. “I was rudely awoken at 03:30 by someone yelling in the atrium asking where he should park his car.”

“Well, no one was answering my fire messages or the front door,” Jens whined. “How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“I dunno. It was 03:30 in the morning! We were all asleep! Who cares where you parked the car?” Lucas pouted. 

Robbe turned his face to Sander and stage whispered, “I knew it! They’re perfect for each other.” Everyone, including Sander, rolled their eyes, and both Jens and Lucas groaned, stepping hastily away from one another. 

Robbe giggled, then winced. “How are you feeling?” Sander asked, worry entering his voice. He realized that Robbe hadn’t really moved yet.

“Hot.”

“Okay, apart from that?”

“You two do know there are about fifteen beds in this room?” he said, side-eyeing Jens.

“Shut up, dork,” Jens bickered, “You know you liked waking up between two hot guys.”

Robbe gave him a dirty look and deadpanned, “Ew.”

Jens barked out a laugh and blew a kiss at Robbe.

Robbe opened his mouth to retaliate, but Sander interrupted, “Can we get back to the point? Stop avoiding the question. How do you feel?”

“Seriously. Hot,” he repeated. Sander groaned in response, and Robbe said, “No really. I feel like my skin and insides are on fire, and just the thought of moving makes me nauseous.”

Sander’s brow furrowed, and he brought his hand to Robbe’s face, feeling his cheeks, neck, and forehead. “You don’t feel hot, hmmm,” he murmured. “It’s internal. Maybe the poison?”

“Probably. I’m sure Brother Shadrach will tell us later,” Robbe said. “Can I have some water?”

“Oh, sure, here,” Jens said, pulling a reusable container out of the backpack he’d placed on the floor the night before. He handed it to Robbe, and with Sander’s help, cradling his neck to lift his head, he downed it.

“Thanks,” he managed, falling back onto the pillow, the action having zapped his energy already.

“Okay.” Jens clapped his hands together. “Why don’t you all catch me up? What happened? And exactly who are you?” He asked, squinting at Lucas.

“Lucas Van der Heijden of the Utrecht Institute. Nice to actually meet you,“ and then he added, “I think.” He gave Jens a genuine smile, dimples flashing, eyes bright, and stuck out his hand. 

“Jens Stoffels,” he said a little flustered, clearly taken aback by Lucas’s smile. He eventually recovered and shook his hand, a corner of his mouth lifting when they separated.

Sander recounted their adventures the night before, noticing that Jens’s face darkened several times in worry. At one point, he interrupted, and peered down his nose at Robbe, “You realize, right, that I’m never letting you out of my sight again? You’re grounded.”

“Please,” Robbe rolled his eyes up, looking aggrieved. “You’re ridiculous and take just as many risks.”

“Be that as it may,” and Jens pointed at Robbe, “Grounded.” Lucas chuckled in the background.

Sander cleared his throat, grabbing their attention, and continued his story. When he finished, they couldn’t do much but wait for Brother Shadrach to return. 

Sander took the opportunity to shower and change his clothes. Lucas had blessedly gone to their hotel earlier that morning and grabbed all their belongings. While he cleaned up, Lucas and Jens popped down to the kitchen to grab food for everyone.

They ate, chatting merrily, in the infirmary. Robbe didn’t have much appetite, but Sander forced him to take a few bites and drink more water. For the most part, he lay in bed, smiling at his friends and hiding the pain he felt. Sander could see the tension in his neck and did his best to relax him, running his fingers through the wavy mess or just placing a comforting hand on his arm or thigh.

Lucas and Jens’s gazes danced around one another, much to Robbe’s amusement, and they ended up eating side by side on the bed next to Robbe’s, their feet swinging and occasionally bumping each other.

Eventually Robbe drifted back to sleep, Sander’s hand in his hair. He breathed easily, and the tension caused by pain smoothed out as his breath deepened. Sander removed his hand, and after giving his forehead one more caress, he turned his body to face Jens and Lucas, continuing their conversation. 

Brother Shadrach returned at 16:00, letting himself in and immediately moving to Robbe’s side. His voice rang out in their minds, “If you would please give us some privacy, I’d like to examine the patient.”

The three boys left the room. Sander sat on the floor outside the door and leaned against the wall, but Jens suggested that he and Lucas go visit the gargoyles. Lucas’s response sounded both bewildered and entertained, and Sander overheard something along the lines of “weirdos from Antwerp obsessed with gargoyles, seriously?” as they walked away.

He enjoyed the momentary peace their absence brought. He’d had little time to think since waking, both a blessing and a curse, and it felt nice to be able to separate himself from the friendly banter and constant worry. 

Personality-wise, Robbe seemed to be alright, but he was still physically weak and far from recovered. Sander only hoped Brother Shadrach would give him good news. 

After about twenty minutes, Brother Shadrach opened the infirmary door and invited Sander back in. Robbe still slept, but he looked more comfortable.

“Sander, we must discuss what happened yesterday, but we also need to prepare for this evening. Where did the two young Shadowhunters go?”

“Oh, they’re probably trying to fall off the roof.” The Silent Brother looked confused, but Sander just flippantly elaborated, “Gargoyles,” waving his hand vaguely. “I’ll text them to come back.” He pulled out his phone and sent a message to both of them.

“The events of yesterday--,” Brother Shadrach began.

But Sander cut him off, “I have some better information about that, actually. I called Magnus Bane last night, and he thinks that my magic went into protective mode. Long story short, I have magic hair that channels my emotions into color and art. It’s weird. I’m still learning about it, but apparently this is a new thing. My magic lashed out and protected Robbe when I thought he was threatened.”

“That is unusual, but I do not believe it inaccurate,” he intoned. “The runes, however--”

“Yeah, Magnus said you wouldn’t like that.”

“It is not that we don’t like it. It is that we did not know it was possible. The implications of this ability are as yet unknown, and we are always cautious when faced with new magic.”

“I can understand that,” Sander responded. “I believe it has something to do with my ability to channel my emotions. I can capture emotions in my art. A rune is essentially a drawing. If I focus my feelings into the rune, that rune will absorb what I want it to feel. In those instances, I wanted to imbue my love into the _Iratze_ to make it stronger, and I think I succeeded. This is not a skill that can be used for evil, nor would I use it as such. I do not think you need to worry.”

“We are not worried, just surprised and cautious. For now, we need to focus on the immediate danger tonight. The Brothers have decided to keep your skill a secret until we have more information, either about you or others who share your ability. I suggest you not share it with anyone else.”

“Oh, I won’t. I promise.”

Jens and Lucas’s voices sounded in the hall, and they entered the room moments later. Brother Shadrach updated them on Robbe’s condition first. The heat he felt was the aftereffect of the poison. It would eventually go away, but it would need to run its course. He’d have to stay in bed for another two days and avoid strenuous activity for at least a week, longer if they could stop him. Jens’s only response to that was a snorted, “Ha!”

Brother Shadrach then turned the conversation towards the demons. The Paris Enclave was unreachable. Only two Brothers were currently available in the Silent City. He was one, and the other would need to stay behind. He had alerted the Consul, but due to proximity, portal, and local problems, Alec was only able to rustle up help from the Institute in Marseille. A handful of Shadowhunters would arrive in Paris by nightfall. 

“So,” Jens estimated, “We’ll have what--five Shadowhunters and a Silent Brother?”

“I too,” Brother Shadrach scolded, “Am a Shadowhunter, and I believe five Shadowhunters are coming. We also have Sander, so that gives us eight.”

Sander’s head shot up. He hadn’t really thought ahead at all. He wasn’t surprised that Jens would leave him out, and he wasn’t surprised that the Silent Brother included him. He was one of them and not one of them. He was a liability, talent-wise, but in a fight where they would be outnumbered like tonight, his presence would be necessary. He didn’t like the idea of fighting without Robbe, but he also felt grateful that Robbe would remain safe at the Institute. His thoughts were all contradictory, but when Lucas and Jens eyed him with uncertainty, he immediately responded, “Yeah, sure, of course,” feeling a combination of pride and nausea. 

Numbers sorted, they turned to tactics, discussing how to approach the Eiffel Tower, where the demons would most likely congregate, where the Marseille Shadowhunters should meet them, and other considerations. 

Sander half paid attention, allowing the experts to be experts. When they asked him questions, he answered them, but he didn’t really offer up any ideas. His eyes drifted to Robbe regularly, pleased to see he seemed better. Rest meant healing.

Robbe woke around 18:00, just before they planned to set out, for which Sander was grateful. He’d have felt terrible leaving without saying goodbye, but he also didn’t want to wake him. 

They made plans to meet at the Sanctuary in fifteen minutes after grabbing weapons, and Brother Shadrach left without ceremony to wait for them there. Lucas nodded at Robbe with a smile and headed up to his room to grab his personal weapons. Jens clasped his hand and brought their chests together briefly. He then followed Lucas out.

Softly, Sander said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he answered, eyelashes batting tiredly. 

“You look better. Do you feel better?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good. I have to go.”

“You’re going?” he asked, panicked.

“Yes. They need me. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“You better be,” he pouted a little. 

“Of course. You get some rest and eat a little more, and we’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Sander leaned forward and kissed him gently, their lips moving smoothly against one another. Robbe’s hand lifted and wrapped around Sander’s neck--he was definitely getting better because that’s the first time he’d voluntarily moved his arms. He pulled Sander further down and whispered in his ear, “You know I’d throw a tantrum about this if I were physically capable of doing so. They’re taking advantage of the situation.”

Sander smiled, pressing his lips onto Robbe’s cheek. “Perhaps.” He moved to kiss him one last time and rubbed their noses together. “I love you.”

“Love you too, San. Be safe, please.”

“I will,” he said. He then turned and walked out the door to meet Jens, who had waited for him in the hallway. They walked together towards the training room to grab weapons from the weapons wall.

“So,” Sander said hesitantly, giving Jens a sideways look, “You seem to be getting along with Lucas, hmm?’

Jens grunted and responded, “So. Magical lightning hair, hmm?”

“Touché,” Sander grinned. They were silent the rest of the way. When they arrived, Jens went straight for the bows and arrows. Sander grabbed a weapons vest and belt. He placed an entire case of throwing daggers into slots on the vest and thrust a shortsword into the holster between his shoulder blades. He grabbed another shortsword and a few longer daggers and stuck them into the belt. He met Jens at the door. He had a bow, three quivers full of arrows, and three seraph blades visible, and likely a whole host of other weapons Sander couldn’t see. Typical.

“Ready?” Jens asked. 

“Ready.”

Lucas and Jens sprinted ahead while Sander and Brother Shadrach jogged at a steady pace behind. They’d left Senne’s car illegally parked on the street somewhere. Since they couldn’t be sure where the demons would attack, they had decided to approach through the Champ de Mars, assuming the shadows of the trees would be a likely place for the demons to mass. The Marseille Enclave waited near the tower itself, having arrived before dark. They were to keep an eye on the park and the trees bordering the other sides while the Paris contingent swept through. 

Sander lifted his gaze to the massive tower before him, lit from within by yellow light. He’d only seen it lit up from afar. Up close it was even more impressive, though he struggled to understand why the demons would attack a place so bright. It seemed an odd choice, but maybe there was a strategic reason for it. Unless it was a trap, he really didn’t care. 

Lucas held a demon sensor between his hands as he ran, and he and Jens stopped every once and awhile to inspect it. At one point, Lucas pointed to the shadows on the left just before the fountain, but Jens found nothing; and the warning must have disappeared. They turned back to the water and continued searching.

Sander, not being a Shadowhunter, had fallen further behind. He peered at the shadows and branches, searching for movement, but he saw nothing. Still, his skin tingled like he was being watched. He could feel that they were there even if he couldn’t see them. As he approached the fountain, he felt the hairs on his neck lift, and a gust of wind whooshed by with such speed that he was nearly knocked off his feet. 

He saw them as he recovered. A black mass of movement and evil-looking red and yellow eyes lurked in the trees, and directly behind him stood a giant demon with leathery bat wings and sharp talons. The wind he felt must have been the demon swooping in for a landing. 

“Jens! Lucas!” he yelled. He pulled the sword from his hip, but before he could lift it, three things happened at once. First, the demon swung its taloned wing at Sander, catching him under the knee and knocking him over. Second, a shower of three arrows thudded almost simultaneously into the demon’s skull, and it burst into dust. And third, the formless mass began to take on individual features, and an army of demons exploded out of the treeline.

Sander jumped to his feet, thankfully unhurt, and faced the demons. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brother Shadrach charging towards them with a double bladed, sword staff, and Jens had already felled a dozen demons from his perch on the ledge of the fountain. Lucas sprinted forward, two seraph blades drawn, and leaped at the first demons, severing two arms and decapitating a third demon before landing in a roll and slicing at another demon’s ankles, knocking it over. He stabbed it with both blades in the chest, and then used it as a shield while rolling away from another demon. He rose to his feet and took a flying leap at a new demon.

Instead of attacking, Sander pulled out his phone, hit ‘dial’ on a previously inputted number, and put it on speaker in his pocket. His most important role, apart from providing back up, was to communicate with Marseille. They needed to know where to go. 

When someone answered, he yelled into the phone while drawing three throwing daggers. The voice on the other end of the line sounded panicked and out of breath. The others were fighting demons as well, which meant they would not be coming to help any time soon. Sander and the Shadowhunter exchanged locations and demon force estimates and then stopped talking to focus on fighting. They left the line open just in case. 

While he’d been talking, Sander had thrown the three knives and pulled out three more. He stayed a little back, though not as far as Jens, and aimed at demons who got too close to Lucas and Brother Shadrach. 

Lucas battled three demons at once, slicing with his blades and using his acrobatic skills to stay out of reach. A demon hovered menacingly behind him, and Sander’s next blade landed in the center of its chest. Lucas, alerted to its presence, flipped backwards and landed on its shoulders and stabbed it through the head. It fell apart, and Lucas landed in a deep lunge, head bowed, sword tip stuck in the ground, like a warrior on a movie poster. Sander wouldn’t have been surprised to see him flip his head up and shake out his hair in slow motion, but of course he wasn’t in a shampoo commercial; he was fighting demons. Instead, Lucas immediately sprang up and attacked the original three demons, blades whipping around mercilessly.

Sander saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and threw a dagger at a flying demon descending on Brother Shadrach. The Silent Brother wielded his sword staff with deadly accuracy. He whirled and thrust, and demons disintegrated around him. Sander saw a second winged demon and let another dagger fly.

Sander continued throwing knives until he ran out, and he was pleasantly surprised to find his accuracy quite deadly. His daggers had taken out at least fifteen demons. He drew his shortsword out of his belt and checked on Jens, who had one quiver of arrows left. They wouldn’t have cover much longer, but they’d held their own so far.

He entered the fray, swinging his sword with both hands, trying to focus on one demon at a time. Just as he was about to panic when three demons attacked at once, an arrow exploded two of them into ichor, and he killed the third. Jens. 

Sander tried to remember his training, all the long hours he’d put in with Robbe and Jens this year. He focused on giving his sword strokes more force and attempted to consciously aim for each different demon’s weakest spot. Sometimes he found himself swinging wildly, just hoping he’d hit something and keep it from getting too close; but other times, he found that he could hear Jens’s voice in his head telling him what to do and where best to aim. 

Not much later, Sander felt a presence beside him and found Jens fighting two demons with a seraph blade. Jens flashed him a grin and then nodded at Sander’s hands, a suggestion that he’d only ever seen Jens use with Robbe. Sander felt his eyes grow wide as he panicked slightly, but he nodded back and braced his legs, cupping his hands together. Jens darted forward and stepped onto his hands. Sander lifted as hard as he could while Jens pressed down, and he flew skyward. Jens’s body somersaulted in midair and then performed a log roll before barreling into a demon’s face blade first. His feet flipped overhead while he turned his hips 180 degrees, and he landed on the demon’s back. He kicked off as the demon fell, and he flew straight at a Mantid demon. Before tackling it to the ground with his blade stuck in its torso, he lopped off two of its arms.

Sander refocused on the demons and stabbed an Iblis demon in the eye, dusting it. He then heard a voice coming from his pocket. One of the Marseillais Shadowhunters was yelling, “We’re coming! We’re coming! Are you still near the fountain?”

Sander backed away a bit, keeping his eyes trained on the demons, and pulled his phone from his pocket, answering, “Yes, yes. There are still dozens, maybe more than a hundred, of them here, and I can’t be sure whether they’ve sent out another group to accomplish whatever plan they had set. Keep a lookout!”

“Thanks. Be there soon.”

Sander returned the phone, still leaving the call open. He reset his grip on his sword and hurried back into the malay. Even though his movements lacked certainty, the demons still fell around him. He succeeded in debilitating a Forneus demon, a repulsive, faceless octopus-like demon, by cutting off most of its arms. It looked comically pathetic flopping around before he delivered his final blow. 

As they’d fought, the battle had shifted closer to the Eiffel Tower, the lights illuminating the gleaming, black bodies of the demons. Lucas had taken advantage of the treeline and was using the branches as launching pads to take out the demons. At one point, Sander thought he even saw him swinging like a monkey before tackling a demon. Jens stayed close to Sander, occasionally sneaking in to help him. Jens darted in and out and between demons so quickly that Sander couldn’t keep up with him. He just decided to trust that Jens would be there when needed, and so far it had worked out.

Brother Shadrach remained stoic, firmly set in one spot, sword staff flashing in all directions around him, seeming to whirl like a dervish. He lacked the acrobatics of Jens and Lucas, but he made up for it in speed. Even with only four of them, they were clearly holding their own against the onslaught. 

The voice in his pocket sounded again. “There are more demons by the tower. A lot more. They seem to be entrancing the tourists and collecting them into some kind of magical field. We’re handling it now.”

“Okay. We’ll try to move that way if we can. Otherwise, we’ll keep the demons fighting over here and out of the way.”

Sander fought his way closer to Jens and yelled, “This is a diversion. The demons are kidnapping tourists by the tower.”

“Shit, okay. I knew something had to be going on.” He smashed a demon in the face with his fist. “We need to stay here and keep these demons busy.” He stabbed it in the stomach as its arms flew to its face. “But I think you should go help.”

“I should?” Sander asked and then rolled away, avoiding a demon’s sharp claw. He slashed his sword at its ankles, and then drove his sword into its chest when it fell. Moving back towards Jens, he asked, “Why?”

“The Mundanes are going to need someone to help them. If you’re there, it’ll free up all the Shadowhunters to fight demons.” He elbowed a demon in the ribs and then swung around and backhanded it in the back. Black ichor exploded all over Jens, who turned his face away just in time. “Uugh!” he cried out in pain, his skin burning. He grimaced as he wiped his hands off on his pants and used his clean wrist to clear his neck.

“Good point,” Sander agreed, taking care of three demons while Jens cleaned up. “Be safe.” He handed Jens his phone. “They’re still on the line.”

“Thanks,” he said, and as Sander sprinted towards the Eiffel Tower, he heard Jens yell after him, “And don’t do anything stupid!”

As Sander approached the tower, he found pure confusion and chaos. Demons were everywhere. The fencing and barriers had been knocked down and trampled. Mundanes ran around blindly, screaming and trying and failing to get away from the unseen menace. A large group of maybe forty tourists had banded together directly under one of the tower legs. They huddled close, carefully pushing children towards the center of the group.

Unless they had the Sight, the Mundanes couldn’t see the demons, so all they could see were people disappearing or being lifted and carried away. Because the Glamour behaved differently for each person, there was no way to know exactly what they were all witnessing. Maybe they saw nothing. Or maybe they saw a pack of wild dogs, or escaped zoo animals. Their brains could not process what was actually happening; they just knew deep inside that they should be terrified. 

The Shadowhunters were spread throughout the square, fighting pods of demons, trying to work their way towards the magical force field that held the Mundanes. The demons were split. Dozens of them engaged the Shadowhunters, but many others wandered the square nabbing tourists and throwing them into the magical cage. The bars of prison were incorporeal, all magic, but they glowed blue, pulsing with power. Only a handful of demons stood on guard, which made Sander think it must be strong magic. They didn’t seem at all worried about escape or attack.

Sander took everything in, strategizing. Should he help the tourists under the tower? Should he try to clear the way for one Shadowhunter to get through? Should he approach the cage and engage the guards? His mind worked frantically, trying to figure out where he could be most helpful.

Eventually, he decided to focus on the cluster of hiding Mundanes. If he could help lead them to safety, then fewer people would be kidnapped, and fewer people would need to be saved later. 

Having chosen his path, he searched the chaos for a reasonable exit strategy. Dozens of demons fought three Shadowhunters on the northeast side of the tower while one fought a pod of demons by the river, and another had been pushed back towards the southwest treeline. The magical force field was on the north corner, near the water. 

Where he was standing, on the street by the south corner of the square was honestly the best place. They could escape down the street. 

He darted forward, heading straight for the group with his head down. Many cried, some cowered, and all were panicked. He looked around, trying to find someone capable of thinking clearly. He saw a young woman with red curly hair, leaning defiant and angry against the concrete. He thought he might be able to reason with her.

He sheathed his sword and approached the woman with his palms open and empty in front of him. “Hey,” he said, “I’m here to help. Do you think you could help me get these people to safety?”

She glanced at his weapons, eyes darting intelligently from one sword to the other. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Sander. I have a plan to get these people to safety, but I need someone level headed to assist me. Can you do that?”

“I--” she hesitated. Then said, “Probably. Yes,” and again more firmly, “Yes. What do you need me to do?”

“Okay. Do you see those bushes just past the concrete base over there? It was entirely clear a moment ago. If we can get everyone behind the concrete, they should be able to run down the street and escape unseen.”

“Okay. What do I need to do?”

“Right,” he said. “The demons--”

“The what?” she interrupted.

“Sorry, your attackers will notice if everyone leaves at once. They’ll probably still notice small groups. I need to stay back and fight them off if they approach. I’ll need you to send maybe 2-3 people at a time. Once they disappear, send the next group. Do you think you can do that?”

She swallowed and nodded, resolute. 

“Good. What’s your name?”

“Marcy.”

“Hi Marcy. Now I need you to help me get their attention and keep them from panicking.” He turned to face the group and called out, “Hey,” loudly, and a few people looked up. He tried again, waving his arms overhead. “Hey. Hey. Can I have your attention?” He had almost everyone’s attention now. 

“Okay. Hi. I’m Sander. We need to get you all away from here. Marcy and I have a plan. She’s going to send you off in small groups to that corner,” and he pointed. “Once you pass the bushes, turn right, and run as fast as you can.”

Someone called out a question, but Sander interrupted, “Sorry, no time for questions. You all need to leave, and the safest way to do so is in small groups so that they don’t notice. I’ll fight them off if they do notice. Okay, Marcy?”

She nodded and pointed to three people. Their eyes widened, a mixture of relief and panic evident, but when she whispered, “Go,” they took off at top speed. It took them about fifteen seconds to reach the corner, and then they disappeared. Sander nodded to himself as the next group darted off.

He turned his gaze outward, scanning for any threats. He moved a little away from the group. Most of the demons had shifted to fight the Shadowhunters, but a few still lumbered around seeking out Mundanes. A barrel chested demon with massive arms held a tourist tucked underneath each arm. A smaller Iblis demon dragged a Mundane by the ankle, and a bat-like demon carried a screaming man through the air, dangling him upside down. They all headed towards the glowing cage, which had grown larger as more people had been thrown inside. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sander saw an enormous demon pause and shift direction mid-stride. It had spotted the escaping Mundanes and had stepped out in pursuit. 

Sander dashed towards it at an angle, cutting it off before it crossed halfway under the tower. He swiped his sword in an arc, aiming for its face. Instead he connected with an armored forearm. A loud _Clang_ sounded. He recovered and swung in the other direction, only to meet the same fate with the other forearm. 

Their movements had caught the attention of the bat-like demon, and it swooped in to lash its talons across Sander’s back. He cried out in pain and barely managed to duck out of the way of the armored demon’s right hook. 

He stumbled backwards, trying to regroup. The flying demon had wheeled around for another pass, and the larger demon approached like a boxer going in for the K.O. He had to decide which to deal with first because both were not an option, at least not for him.

Making up his mind, he turned his attention to the flying demon, and as it swooped down to strike, he ducked and then exploded up, grabbing its ankle. He was hauled off his feet immediately, body suspended in mid-air. Before it could take him too high, he thrust his sword into its torso and dragged it down until it came free, splitting its abdomen in half. Ichor dripped down onto Sander’s hands, and he hissed at the pain right before the demon disintegrated. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, trying to land with his muscles relaxed, but not being a Shadowhunter, a fall from five meters was still quite jarring. He did manage to absorb much of the fall by rolling on his side and covering his face as soon as he hit the ground, but it still hurt like hell. The fabric on his elbows and knees was ripped, and blood was clearly visible streaming down his right shin from where his knee had landed on a rock. 

He forced himself to get up and circled to find the armored demon, who had redirected toward the cluster of Mundanes, about half of which still remained. Several of them screamed, trying to hide, while others just looked confused, eyes wide. Sander pulled a dagger from his belt and tossed it at the demon, not expecting it to do anything but get its attention, which is exactly what happened. 

The dagger bounced off the demon’s plated skin, and it turned to scowl at Sander. Sander took his cue and raced towards it, sword raised. At the last second, he slid between its legs, slicing his blade at its thigh. The blade zinged like it was rubbing against metal, and the demon didn’t even flinch. 

Sander was at a loss. He didn’t recognize the demon and thus didn’t know its weaknesses. And so far, it had armor everywhere. His best bet, for now, was to keep attacking it and to draw it away from the Mundanes, though he did worry about his endurance. He could feel his body beginning to weaken. 

Somehow, he sprung to his feet and lunged at the demon’s back. He whacked it and then jumped away a few feet. The demon turned and lunged at him, and they proceeded to follow this pattern as they moved further away from the tourists, Sander faux attacking and then stepping out of the way. The demon lunging and chasing. 

They continued for several minutes, and once he built up some confidence that his strategy was working, he began paying attention to where the plates of armor met. He looked for weaknesses, thinking that if the demon’s joints creased and moved, they must be vulnerable. He aimed for its elbows, knees, and ankles. When he was finally able to land a strike closer to its head, he found hope. His blade slid an inch into its neck crease before it wrenched itself away.

Sander allowed himself a small smile as he lunged again, aiming with renewed focus. Its weakness known, the demon paid more attention to protecting its neck. A forearm or wrist always blocked his blows, and the demon wouldn’t let him get close enough to try a dagger. Momentarily losing his mind, he considered what Jens or Robbe would do. They, he decided, would find a way to attack from behind, most likely while hanging on its back.

Sander groaned internally, promising himself to both thank and harangue them later--hours and hours of detailed complaining. How was he going to get up there? He wasn’t exactly a flying monkey like Lucas. Gazing around, he spotted a metal turnstile-looking thing, his best bet. He lured the demon towards it, keeping its back to the fortuitous silver shelf.

He maneuvered it as close as he dared, and then distracting it by throwing a dagger at its face, he once again slid between its legs. This time he stood swiftly and took a flying leap at the turnstile. When his second foot landed, he exploded up. Sword outstretched, he turned midair and landed on the demon’s back, feet anchored on its hips, sword embedded in the space between its shoulder and head. He drove the blade home a little deeper and then pulled his last dagger out and stabbed it into the same spot on the other side of its neck. The demon crumbled beneath him. He wobbled a little as his feet hit the ground, but he thankfully remained upright. 

With no time to think or worry about anything else, he headed back to the much smaller group. Marcy and five other people remained, and a cursory glance at the cage told him that none of the escapees had been captured. He breathed a sigh of relief and nodded to Marcy, saying, “Thank you. Take care of yourself.” 

With a grim look, she nodded, her eyes screaming, “Thank You,” and took off with the last group. 

Sander stood alone beneath the bright yellow lights of the Eiffel Tower. What next? The cage or Shadowhunters? In a sense, his mind was made up for him because only halfway through his musings he saw Jens, Lucas, and Brother Shadrach hurrying towards him.

“What’s going on?” Jens asked, catching his breath.

“I got about forty people out. Most of the demons are focused on the Shadowhunters, and there are a handful guarding the cage. Maybe another forty inside?”

Brother Shadrach’s voice sounded in his head, “Sander and I will deal with the cage. You two fight demons.”

Jens winked at Lucas, “Ready?”

Lucas blushed but answered confidently, “Of course.” Jens’s grin broadened, and he wrapped his arm briefly around Lucas’s shoulder before using it to push him forward. Lucas laughed, and they darted off together.

Brother Shadrach turned his body towards Sander. “I do not know what magic they are using, but it is powerful. I need to get closer to see if I can dismantle it. Once we take out the guards, I will need you to keep watch while I work.”

“Sure,” Sander said. “No problem. Yeah.” Internally, he was less confident. He was covered in bruises, blood had congealed on his leg and was trickling down in other spots on his back and shoulders, and his arms and legs practically shook with exhaustion. It didn’t help that his nerves had started to kick in again. 

He closed his eyes and thought of Robbe, all warm and comfortable tucked into bed, a blanket pulled up to his cheek, his hair fluffing out around him, lips relaxed and soft, mouth slightly open. The image brought him comfort and hardened his resolve to finish the battle, so he could get home to him.

Opening his eyes, he followed Brother Shadrach to the cage. As they approached, he could feel the power emanating from the glowing bars. They practically vibrated, and up close he could see that the light pulsated, an electric-type current running up and down the bars, moving around the cage like a living being.

Four demons stood protecting the cage, one at each corner. Brother Shadrach engaged the two on the right, immediately dusting the first one with a lethal swipe of his sword staff. The other demon put up more of a fight, and Sander lost track of him as he approached the other two demons. 

The closest demon loomed large and heavy and resembled the armored demon from before. At least, Sander thought, he knew how to approach it this time. He cast his eyes around, hoping for another ledge of some kind. No luck. There was nothing useful. He’d have to wing it. 

The demon swung at him, and he ducked. It followed with a fast cross, and he didn’t get away in time. It connected with his shoulder and knocked him back a good three meters. He landed in a heap, his shoulder throbbing. Looking up, he saw both demons descending upon him. The fourth demon having joined the armored one. 

He scrambled to his feet and backed away, trying to give himself time to think and Brother Shadrach room to work. He needed to use the second demon to reach the first. He focused on tripping up the new demon; tall and gangly with skinny, long legs; a short, hunched torso; and two rows of razor edged teeth in the center of its face. He sliced at its ankles and then jammed the hilt of his sword into the back of its knee. It buckled and began to topple over. Sander helped it along by slamming the hilt into its chest. 

He then took two steps back, and using the demon’s back as a step, he leaped towards the armored demon.

Instead of landing on its back like he had planned, he ended up wrapped around its arm, legs angling for purchase as his hands clawed their way towards its neck. The demon waved its arm wildly, and Sander flopped around, barely holding on. Eventually, he had a solid enough grip to lift his blade and thrust it into the demon’s neck. The demon’s body convulsed, and he lost his grip on its arm. His hand swung up to latch on to the hilt, and he dangled down the demon’s chest, both hands on the sword embedded in its neck.

He kicked his feet, catching them on its thigh. He pressed against it to jump up and then let himself dangle again, plunging the sword deeper into its neck. The demon cried out, and just before it exploded in ichor, its claws raked across Sander’s back, catching him on either side of the sword blade.

He let go of the sword and fell backwards on his butt to keep away from the ichor. He cringed in pain but grabbed the second sword from his back and stood to face the now standing demon. He twirled the sword with a flick of his wrist, and before he could strike, a blade pushed through its chest from behind. It disappeared, and then another blade slammed into its side. It crumbled into ichor, leaving Sander to stare gratefully at Brother Shadrach over the goo.

“Keep a lookout,” he said in his voiceless monotone. “I’ll focus on the cage.”

“K,” Sander managed. He found a spot where he could best see all the angles and then paced, scanning for approaching demons. In the distance, he could see Jens and Lucas fighting as a team against nearly ten demons. They had interlocked their right wrists, and Jens was swinging Lucas around in an arc. When he let go, Lucas flew at the demons, weapon outstretched, landing on one while cutting down another. Jens followed him, sprinting forward and performing a double somersault to land behind a demon and stab it through the back. Lucas landed behind him, and back to back they prepared for another advance. Clearly, they worked well together.

Brother Shadrach strode around the cage, drawing runes here and there above the bars. Occasionally, he would hold his hands over the bars and chant unintelligible words, but so far, nothing had happened. 

As Sander’s eyes roamed the square, it was clear that the battle was winding down. Instead of five or six individual battles with demons going on, there were now two distinct groups fighting on opposite sides. A tall, dark haired Shadowhunter had joined Jens and Lucas, and the other four fought together on the other side of the tower. With the Shadowhunters closer together and working as a team, the demons were disappearing much more quickly. 

It was over about five minutes later. Lucas, Jens, and their new friend met up with the other Shadowhunters. They strode tiredly toward the cage, shaking hands and chatting. Halfway there, three broke off, clearly leaving to scout and keep watch. 

Sander took the opportunity to sit on the ground, his back against the concrete base. He splayed his legs in front and let his head fall back, eyes closed.

“Hey,” a voice said. “You all right?”

Sander opened his eyes to see Jens looking at him with concern. “Yeah, I’m okay. Banged up. Bruised. A little bloody. Tired. But okay, I think.”

“Good,” he said, sitting down on Sander’s right, and Lucas collapsed next to him. “Robbe would kill me otherwise.”

Lucas groaned, bringing his hand to his shoulder. “By the Angel, I think it might be dislocated. Something happened at the end there, and it hurts like hell.”

“Might have been Jens throwing you around like a sack of potatoes,” Sander suggested flippantly.

Jens glared at him harshly and then turned to Lucas, “Here. Let me give you an _iratze_ ,” his voice laced with concern. Lucas tried to protest, saying he could do it, but Jens wouldn’t hear of it. He pulled down the back collar of Lucas’s gear and drew the healing rune just below his neck. Lucas then insisted on giving Jens an _iratze_ , so he pulled the front collar of his shirt down, inscribing it over his collarbone. They stared intensely into one another’s eyes the whole time, and when finished, they sat there smiling dumbly at each other as the runes took effect.

Sander couldn’t help thinking once again that the whole runes thing was bizarrely intimate. After his experience helping Robbe the night before, he knew there was an element of feeling that went into them. Touch can be very personal and intimate. The idea that a rune is more powerful if someone else draws it makes sense if the accompanying emotions are taken into consideration. Still, it was bizarre. Burning marks into another person’s skin.

“You know,” he groaned, ruining the moment. They jumped apart a little as he continued, “Some of us have to heal the old fashioned way.”

“Meh,” Jens shrugged. “I’m sure Robbe will kiss all your boo boos better.”

“Hmm,” Sander hummed, looking at him sideways. “You’re probably right. You should sleep somewhere else tonight.” He paused, then added, “And tomorrow night as well.”

Jens’s chest bubbled with laughter. “I agree. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere. There are plenty of empty rooms at the Institute.” He sounded nonchalant, but Sander caught the quick glance he shot at Lucas.

Lucas, it seemed, was oblivious to the hint, because he just nodded in agreement, and said, “Sure. I’ll find you a room. By the way, should we be doing something?”

“Nah,” said Jens. “The demons are gone. We can’t help with the cage. We’re not French. I’m not even 18 yet, and Sander’s half Fey. I think this is above our paygrade. I say we relax until someone tells us what to do--ideally, to go home.”

“I second the notion,” Sander quipped. “All in favor?”

“Aye,” they all said laughing. 

Sander must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he, Jens, and Lucas were being prodded awake by the dark haired Shadowhunter. The three of them had collapsed inward, Lucas and Sander resting their heads on Jens’s shoulders, and Jens’s leaning on Lucas’s head, their legs and knees sprawled out in every direction. 

They blinked blearily up at him. Sander half-listened as he said his name was Claude and gave them an update. His ears perked up, however, when Claude suggested they head home. The Marseilles Shadowhunters would follow later and crash in empty rooms.

Brother Shadrach had had little success with the cage, so they were calling in Warlocks to help. The Institute would be informed as soon as there was news to report.

With relief, and a little bit of limping on Sander’s part, they headed out. They found Senne’s car, miraculously not towed or booted, and drove back to the Institute. 

Lucas insisted on treating Sander’s wounds, so they spent a good thirty minutes in the bathroom cleaning, disinfecting, and wrapping his many cuts and scrapes before they headed their separate ways for bed.

The last thing Sander remembered before falling into a dead sleep was Robbe’s arms opening to pull him under the covers into a hug, relief all over his face.

Sander awoke to bright sunlight and light fingers combing through his hair and trailing down his cheek. He opened his eyes, and unable to control himself, the corners of his mouth lifted upon seeing Robbe.

“Hey, Baby,” Robbe murmured quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled into Robbe’s neck. Sander lay on his side, right leg tossed over Robbe’s, arm thrown across his chest, fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. Robbe’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling him in, and his cheek rested on Robbe’s shoulder with Robbe’s cheek pressing into his forehead. He felt warm and safe. Relief flooded through him. They had survived, both of them, and they were together. All was well with the world. 

He lifted his chin and kissed Robbe on the jaw. “How are you feeling?” he asked, punctuating it with a little nip.

Robbe chuckled at the bite and kissed him on the forehead. “I was about to ask you the same thing. I feel much better. I don’t feel hot anymore. I can walk around if I want to.” Sander pulled back and narrowed his eyes at him. Laughing, he said, “Not that I would, of course! Don’t worry.”

“Right,” Sander said sarcastically. “Like either of those statements are possible. I will worry, and you will jump out of this bed much sooner than you should.”

“Perhaps, but what about you?”

“I’m...ok. Sore. Banged up. I’ll definitely be sporting a mottled look for the next few weeks. Jens said you had to kiss all my boo-boos. It’s going to take you awhile.”

Robbe smirked. “I can live with that.”

“Me too.” He kissed Robbe’s chest and nuzzled his collarbone.

“But, Sander, how are you doing up here?” He tapped his head. “What happened? Can you tell me?”

He thought for a moment and then snuggled a little more into Robbe’s chest. “I’m alright. Last night was...difficult. Exhausting. Borderline traumatic.” He thought some more. “I think adrenaline was the only thing keeping me going at the end. I kept hearing Jens’s voice in my head telling me what to do. He’s a really good teacher.” He then lifted up and caught Robbe’s gaze. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Never. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Though, I think he already knows. He’s quite proud of you. Not that he’ll ever tell you that, of course.”

Sander grinned and booped Robbe with his nose before snuggling back in. He proceeded to tell Robbe about the night’s events. Several of the details were fuzzy, and he couldn’t report any recent news; but overall, he relayed the information as best he could. He made sure to include what he’d noticed about Jens and Lucas as well, particularly how well they worked together.

“You were so brave, baby.” He squeezed Sander tightly. “I am so sorry you had to do that, and I’m even more sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I’m so proud. You were amazing.” He squeezed him again. “You are amazing.”

“Pfft,” Sander spurted out.

“No really. You are amazing, and I am proud of you. Just think. You would never have been able to do this a year ago. You learned so fast, and you worked so hard.”

“Well, I had good incentive on that one...and there might have also been a lot of nagging involved. Hmm?”

Robbe giggled, “Maybe. I admit nothing.”

“Well, I can’t be that brave because I don’t want to do that again, or at least not for a while. Unlike you adrenaline junkie, super-hero complex, Nephilim weirdos, I did not find that enjoyable. At all.”

Robbe laughed out right. “Baby, that’s not a question of bravery. That’s common sense!”

“So you’re saying I’m smarter than you?” He pulled lightly on Robbe’s hair, joy filling his voice.

“Shut up, you!” He poked Sander in the ribs with his free hand, and Sander grabbed it and pulled it to his lips, holding it in front of his face. “Anyway, you’re not a Nephilim,” he continued. “Of course you shouldn’t do that again unless absolutely necessary. And honestly, I need to take better care of you. I put you in danger and then couldn’t help when it mattered.”

“Rooobbe,” Sander tried, lifting himself to try to catch Robbe’s eyes.

“No, really,” he insisted, his gaze darkening, pulling inward, a slight panic entering his voice. “You were in danger because of me. I led you to the demons. You had to save me. You were hurt because of me. Being with me is dangerous. I can’t let this happen again. I--”

“Robin, stop there.” The use of his pet name caught his attention, and Robbe paused. “Nothing you said is wrong, necessarily, but you’re forgetting a few things.” He pushed himself up out of the blankets and straddled Robbe’s waist with his knees, sitting back onto his hips. He cupped his face in his hands and forced him to make eye contact. “First, you can’t make me do anything. I make my own choices. I chose you, you idiot. I chose to be with a Shadowhunter. I know your life is dangerous, and I still chose you.” He emphasized his words by pressing his forefinger into Robbe’s chest every time he said _you_. “We’re in this together. We made that choice together. We even planned for it. You trained me. You brought in Jens to teach me. Because of you, I could fight. Because of you, I could help protect you. Maybe we had a little luck, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I couldn’t fight. Because of you, I saved dozens of Mundanes last night. That’s not my job, I know, but we both know situations like this are going to happen. I want to be around you, and I know being around you will occasionally be hazardous. But we’re prepared, and we’ll keep training. This isn’t your fault. This--” and he spread out his arms, “This is our life. And I love it.”

Robbe’s eyes were moist, and he stared at Sander, his eyes burning with love and awe. “Do you mean all of that, really?”

“Of course, Robin,” his eyes softening. “I mean every word. Nothing that happens will ever be your fault. I choose you. I will always choose you. No matter what--”

Sander didn’t finish his sentence because Robbe had curled his fingers into his shirt and pulled him down. Robbe kissed him hungrily, arms wrapped around his back, one hand sneaking under his shirt, the other curling up to grab his hair. 

Sander took a moment to brace himself on his elbows and then turned all his attention to Robbe’s lips. He bit Robbe’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and then flicking his tongue across it before sliding it into Robbe’s mouth. Their tongues entwined, and Robbe opened his lips wider, turning his head slightly to deepen the kiss.

They kissed furiously for a while, starved for each other, like they hadn’t seen or touched each other in ages. Eventually, Sander pulled away enough to catch his breath and trail kisses from the corner of Robbe’s mouth to his ear. Robbe turned his neck slightly, trying to kiss Sander’s cheek but mostly ending up in his hair. His arms clawed at Sander’s back, and he could feel Robbe trying to flip them over.

Sander let out a breathy giggle and whispered, “And what do you think you’re doing? You’re not supposed to move or exert yourself.” Sander bit his earlobe and heard an almost inaudible gasp. “Catching on, are you?”

Robbe hummed and pulled Sander back to his lips, attacking him with single minded focus. “You like that idea, do you?” Sander teased, pulling away. Robbe responded by lifting his head off of the pillow and trying to capture Sander’s lips again. “I don’t think so, Cutie.” He pushed Robbe back down with his hand. “You stay there.”

He then proceeded to trail kisses across his jaw and under his chin, leaving a few red marks here and there with his teeth. Sander dropped feathery kisses across Robbe’s collarbone, letting his tongue trace the dark runes. He kissed the hollow of his throat and then sucked briefly on his pulse point before giving it a little nip. Robbe squirmed beneath him, his hands fisting in Sander’s hair, pulling a little harder than he probably intended.

Sander smiled and murmured, “Careful. Wouldn’t want to unleash any crazy magic.” Robbe’s chest shook as he laughed silently, loosening his grip slightly. “Better.” He then moved his hands to the hem of Robbe’s shirt and pulled it up. “You know,” he said, smirking at Robbe, eyes flirting merrily. “I dream about your abs sometimes. Your stomach,” and he traced his fingers in the grooves between the muscles, “is a gift.” 

Robbe rolled his eyes, smiling indulgently, but his eyes darkened as Sander began to trace his runes with light, brushing strokes; and his mouth dropped open in a pant when Sander shifted his hips back a little and lowered his lips to his midsection. He hovered them just above the skin, leaving a trail of heat and only occasionally a kiss. Lifting his shirt a little further, he turned his attention to Robbe’s injury. 

The skin had mostly healed. The jagged, gaping hole from two nights ago was now a thin line, surrounded by a small circle of red, flushed skin. Sander rubbed his face into it, trying not to tear up. He kissed around the redness and then along the length of the scar. He shoved his face back into it and mumbled, “I’ve never been so scared in my life. Oh my God, I was terrified.” His face rubbed back and forth across the scar.

Robbe’s arms wrapped around him, holding him down, and he turned his face to the side, listening to the steady, though elevated, beating of Robbe’s heart. “I know. I know,” Robbe consoled him, running his fingers along his cheek. “But it’s okay now. I’m okay. And we’re together, right?”

Sander nodded, surprised at the sudden change in his emotions. He let Robbe hold him and took comfort in knowing he understood. When he was ready, he kissed the wound one more time and then moved to leave little nips and pecks across his chest. 

The mood had shifted a little. Sander was no less determined, but much of the playfulness was gone. In the face of his near loss, he wanted to love and cherish Robbe, and sensing that need, Robbe let him. 

He returned his attention back to Robbe’s glorious stomach. He let his nose trace the clearly defined muscles, and then his tongue followed suit, dipping between each one. He started at the top and slowly, teasingly worked his way down. Each time he traced the outline of one of his muscles, he’d then kiss it. “You.” He pulled Robbe’s pajama bottoms down slightly, revealing the final set of muscles and a curly trail of hair. “Are.” He nipped at the left one. “So.” He bit the right one. “Hot.” He lifted himself up and captured Robbe’s lips. It was a wet, open mouthed kiss, both of them needing the nearness of the other but incapable of actually controlling their movements. 

Sander pulled back, panting, and Robbe gasped out, “By the Angel, Sander. I love you so much. So much. You have no idea.”

Sander hovered above, his eyes boring into Robbe’s. “I think,” he said, his voice husky, “That I have a very good idea, actually.” He kissed him one more time, then returned his hands and face to his waist. His fingers curled under the elastic, and he had just started to pull it down when he heard--

“Oh God, my eyes. My eyes. I need to burn them!” 

Robbe and Sander both jumped like they’d been caught by their parents, and Sander sat up. Their heavy breathing was audible, and he knew that Robbe, at least, had turned ten shades of red. He imagined he didn’t look any better.

“I’d say get a room, but you’re actually in a room, so…” Jens stood, ankles and arms crossed, casually leaning against the door jam. 

“Jens, Oh my God, seriously? Go away,” Sander roared, while Robbe, flustered, pulled his shirt down.

“Nope. Sorry, not sorry. He’s not allowed, so it’s a good thing I showed up to save him from himself.”

Robbe groaned in frustration. “Jens! You’re not my babysitter. Get out.”

“No, but I am your _Parabatai_.”

“Yeah, my brother in battle, not the keeper of my virtue!”

Jens howled. “Virtue, Robbe, really? That went away the second you saw him two years ago.” 

“Jens, I swear I’m going to kill you when I’m allowed out of this bed. You. are. the. worst.”

“We’ve really lost the plot here,” Sander interjected. “I believe you were about to leave,” he aimed at Jens.

Jens stomped forward towards the bed. “Still nope. Someone’s got to watch out for Robbe. I let him out of my sight for one week and look what happened?”

“Yeah,” Robbe said dryly, “We got caught up in a demon plot of massive proportions that no one could have anticipated while on vacation in another city where the Shadowhunters were somehow all out on another mission. Not to mention, my boyfriend’s hair magically developed demon zapping lightning abilities, which saved my life! Twice! I’m sure all of that only happened because you weren’t with me.”

Jens’s tone changed, and he looked a little more contrite. “Yes. Okay. That’s all true. I just don’t like the fact that I wasn’t with you.”

“On that then, we agree. I would have preferred you here as well.” Sander coughed, still sitting astride Robbe’s hips. “Ugh, right. I mean, I wish you’d been here for the fighting part, obviously not crashing my romantic vacation. You interrupt enough as it is.”

“Case in point,” Sander mumbled. 

They all laughed at his accuracy, the tension dissipating somewhat. While still hoping Robbe would strangle him later, Sander begrudgingly decided Jens was probably right. They’d gotten carried away by the depth of their emotions and relief and had forgotten Robbe’s frail state. He slid off Robbe, who gave him a regretful, apologetic look, and sat on the bed to his right. Jens sat on the other side.

A voice called from the hallway, “Is it safe yet? You’re not killing each other?”

“Yes, Lucas. Get in here,” Jens called back.

Sander lifted an eyebrow in question at him. Jens returned the look with wide-eyed innocence, admitting nothing. Lucas sat at the foot of the bed, a bag of food in his hands.

Sander perked up. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until he saw the food, but now that it was nearby, he realized he was famished. His stomach even growled in response. “You are most welcome. Jens--,” he rocked his hand side to side and shrugged, “Not so much.”

“Hey!”

“I agree,” Robbe added. “He brought food. You’re absolutely infuriating.”

“Hey!”

Lucas leaned over and patted his knee. “It’s okay. I appreciate you.” Jens beamed, sitting up straighter. He gave them a “See” look. Lucas removed his hand and ducked away shyly. He avoided eye contact by pulling out the food and spreading it out on the bed. Robbe and Sander locked eyes with matching grins. They still hadn’t forgiven Jens, but they were all in on supporting his crush on Lucas. 

They spent the rest of the morning goofing off in the infirmary and then napped in the afternoon. Sander and Robbe fell asleep cuddled together after talking a little longer. Jens and Lucas fell asleep side by side while watching a movie on Jens’s phone. Like the night before, they curled in to one another, their bodies comfortable with each other while relaxed in a way they wouldn’t be while awake. This time, though, their fingers lay intertwined between them, a feat they had accomplished while conscious.

The next afternoon, Sander and Robbe stood outside the Sanctuary door, holding hands, bags and suitcases in tow. A rather harrowed looking Brother Shadrach had officially released Robbe from his care and taken him off of bed rest that morning, and they were headed back to Antwerp.

Since Sander was Fey, and Robbe was technically still a minor, they did not need to stick around for the fall out of the demon attack. They gave their report and handed over responsibility to the Paris Enclave, who had returned, as scheduled, six hours after the battle ended. 

The Institute was in chaos. Marseillais and Parisian Shadowhunters fluttered from room to room, looking tired and flustered. Extra patrols were being sent out at night.

A Parisian Warlock had eventually been able to release the trapped Mundane tourists the previous evening, though they had spent nearly twenty hours in a magical prison they could not see. Brother Shadrach had remained with them the whole time, and another Silent Brother had arrived with the Warlock. The Mundanes were traumatized, confused, and disoriented. The Warlock had to perform memory spells on each one of them so that they could return to their lives.

They were no closer, however, to understanding the _why_ of the demon attack. No one knew what the demons had planned for the Mundanes or what the endgame was. Part of the reason for the frenzy was that they feared a second attempt. Several Downworlders from across France had been called in to form a council, and it was suggested that Alec Lightwood might make an appearance if no answers were forthcoming. Sander was grateful that, for them at least, it was all over. 

“Are you sure you want to stay? It’s a mess in there,” Robbe asked Jens. “There’s plenty of room in Senne’s car.”

Jens stood at the doorway, Lucas by his side. “Nah,” he said. He gave Lucas a sideways look and added, “I thought I’d get to know the gargoyles a little better. We haven’t really had time to bond yet.” 

Lucas’s body jerked forward in a giggle before he stood up straighter wearing a broad grin. His eyes laughed at Jens, and he teased, “Just the gargoyles?”

“Maybe one particular gargoyle, actually.”

“Hmm,” Lucas hummed with lifted eyebrows and teasing eyes.

“And anyway,” continued Jens, “Several hours stuck in a car with the two of you sounds like a terrible idea. I might asphyxiate on all the heart eyes and flirting. No thanks!” He scoffed.

Lucas rolled his eyes, giving Jens a fond, exasperated look, and then stuck out his hand, shaking first Robbe’s and then Sander’s. “It was great meeting you both. I hope to see you soon.”

“Well, of course, we will,” Sander said, eyes twinkling. He looked directly at Jens, but said jokingly, “You’re my new BFF, right?” Lucas grinned, and Sander pulled him in for a hug. “Text me any time, and I do want to see you. Soon. Okay?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“You,” Sander said, pointing at Jens, “Be good. I’m still rooting for Robbe to throttle you when he’s feeling better.”

“Like he could…”

“What do you mean? I could do it now. Easily,” Robbe interjected. “If I’m honest, I’m still rooting for me to throttle you too.” He winked at Sander and squeezed his hand.

“Not likely. You’d pass out from exhaustion before you could get close to me,” he said playfully. His tone shifted then, and his eyes narrowed. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“Until?” Sander spat out, but everyone ignored him.

“I won’t, you great big idiot. I’m sure Sander won’t let me do anything for the next two weeks.”

“Nope,” Sander agreed. 

“I’ll be soooo bored,” Robbe whined.

Sander smiled at him and wrapped his arm around his shoulder, pulling him in to kiss his hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll find ways to keep you from being bored. I promise.”

“And that’s our cue,” Jens said hastily, waving them away. “Like I was saying earlier,” he said to Lucas, “Stuck in a car for hours with that? Ugh!” He shivered.

“Shut up. You seriously have the emotional maturity of a teaspoon. I wish you luck with him,” Robbe said, looking pityingly at Lucas, and then launching himself at Jens.

“Don’t insult me with a _Harry Potter_ reference and think it will keep you out of trouble,” Jens said, hugging him tightly. They sagged together with laughter, hugged again, and said a few unintelligible words in each other’s ears. 

Sander just raised his eyebrows at Lucas and mouthed silently, “ _Parabatai_.” 

Lucas shrugged back, shaking his head side to side, bewildered, and said, “Weird.”

“Definitely. Well,” Sander called, clapping his hands together, “Glad that’s sorted. Robbe, unless you’re going to strangle him, which I still highly recommend, we need to get going. You guys can continue your emotionally stunted, weirdly intimate version of friendship when Jens gets back. I’d like to drive you home now.” 

“Don’t pretend, Sander. You love me. Admit it,” Jens answered, not letting go of Robbe.

“Only when you admit how much you love me.”

“So never, then. Right. Got it.”

Robbe stepped away, mumbling something about them both being “Idiots” and returned to grab his backpack. Sander took his hand and pulled the suitcase behind them with the other. “See you,” he called over his shoulder.

Their holiday, he thought, had been an overall success. Robbe no longer feared Paris. They knew that Sander could hold his own in a fight. They’d learned more about his magic. They realized that their love was powerful. It could do the impossible. And more than anything, they knew with profound certainty that they were each other’s choice. Whatever their future, they would face it together. This was the life they had chosen, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sander looked down at the person he loved most in the whole world, and his heart filled with love.

“I love you, too.”

“Huh?” he asked, confused.

“I love you, too.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Your hair. It’s the color of love.”

  
  


*Bonus*

Jens’s knees swung back and forth, bumping into Lucas’s and then retreating. They sat side by side, hips and shoulders touching, on the roof of the Paris Institute. Jens’s favorite gargoyle, who he’d name François, loomed on their right, and the city spread out before them, lit up with bright lights of every color. The night sky hovered like a dark canopy, only a few stars visible against the bright Paris skyline.

They’d spent that day and the day before wandering around Paris together, laughing, talking, and having a grand time getting to know one another. Jens now knew Lucas’s favorite food, his friends’ names, and his favorite weapons; and he’d really enjoyed swapping battle stories. He’d made sure to include all the funny ones, where they’d only barely escaped, or fallen into something gross, or tripped and done something dumb--absolutely anything to make him laugh. He now lived for Lucas’s laugh. It sounded like sunshine and made his heart patter wildly.

Yet, as they sat overlooking the city, Jens wracked his brains for how to progress past the teasing and laughter. They’d begun being more handsy as they got to know each other, patting shoulders, poking, and light but brief touches. It was followed by intense staring, awkward and blatant at the same time. So much eye contact. But, he wanted more, and he was pretty sure Lucas did too. He just didn’t know how to get there, so instead, he sat contemplatively on the roof, playfully bumping Lucas’s leg, trying to figure out what to do next.

“I wish you didn’t have to go so soon,” Lucas said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah, me too. At least I was able to wheedle two more days out of my parents. Originally they’d insisted I come home tomorrow.”

“I know. Thank the Angel for small mercies.” The corner of Lucas’s mouth quirked up. “I’m sure we can get in loads of trouble in two days.”

Jens bumped him with his shoulder, grinning. “I’m pretty sure that’s why they wanted me home sooner…”

“You’re probably right,” he said, bumping him back. He then lay back, hands behind his head, looking pensive. 

Jens leaned back on his elbows beside him and tapping his forehead, asked, “What’s going on in there?”

“Just thinking.”

“Clearly,” he paused, waiting for more detail. When none came, he added, “About what?”

“Oh, just that I can’t believe how much has happened in such a short time. I met Robbe and Sander just over a week ago. I’ve only known about you for that long, and we’ve technically only known each other four days.”

“Been counting?” Jens teased.

Lucas ignored him and continued, “I’ve made three new friends, and though we joke about it, I think Sander and I really are going to be close.”

“Ugh, Please. No,” Jens groaned dramatically.

“You are ridiculous!” Lucas exclaimed, rising up on one elbow and facing Jens. “You know you love him.”

“Hmpf.”

“Anyway, what else happened? Oh yeah, I was stuck alone in the Institute during a crisis. Had to dart across the city to rescue Robbe and Sander. And then, when we got back, I somehow found myself coming out to Sander over crackers, something I haven’t even told my friends at home. Then, you woke me up at the ass crack of dawn, and we had to fight a gazillion demons--”

“You might be exaggerating there.”

“Hush, this is my rant. We had to fight a gazillion demons and try to save Mundanes from a magical box, and we still have no idea why any of it happened. And like whiplash, Robbe and Sander are now gone, and yet here you are. You stayed.” His voice, which had been growing more frantic and high-pitched, softened on the last two words. 

Jens, who had been looking out over the city, shifted his gaze to Lucas and found him staring up at him, mouth slightly open, eyes a little wide. He seemed surprised by his own words and a little awed by the fact that Jens was sitting beside him. Jens stared blatantly at his lips for a moment, eyes fixated on the damp sheen left by his tongue. He might have even leaned slightly forward before shaking himself out of it. Grasping for something to say, he blurted out, “Woah, backtrack a second. You came out to Sander?”

“Oh,” he seemed momentarily taken aback. “Yeah, and now you, I guess.”

“Oh,” Jens repeated, “I guess so.” He couldn’t think of anything to say. His outburst, an absolute failure at trying to sound carefree, had ruined their easy banter. Falling back on jokes and teasing when he felt uncomfortable or too serious usually worked, but not this time. The tone was off. An awkward silence filled the space between them, and Jens tried to fix it by saying, “Well, that’s a good thing.”

“What is?” He asked confused, his eyes a little downcast. Jens feared he was disappointed.

His mind suddenly went blank, and he froze. He was only making it worse. “Erm,” he said, trying to buy time, and then the dumbest thing flew out of his mouth, “Well, now I know.” He met Lucas’s eyes, pleading with him to forgive his stupidity.

“You weren’t already sure?”

“Um, maybe, yeah. Well, not really. I don’t know,” Jens babbled. He sat up again, leaning forward and fisting his hands into his hair. “This is hard!” he growled. 

Lucas sat up too, placing his hand on Jens’s back comfortingly and curling forward around him so that their faces were close. He didn’t say anything at first, but Jens felt him exhale, and then say, “What is hard, Jens? I don’t understand. Please tell me what’s bothering you.” His voice was calm and soothing, like he was trying to gentle a skittish animals, and he began smoothing his hand across Jens’s back in slow circles. 

Still frustrated, Jens ground out, “This. All of this!” He released his hair and waved his hands about vaguely. “I’m no good at it. You’ve seen me. I’m good at sarcasm. Teasing. I can joke about someone being hot, but I don’t do...feelings. I don’t know how to act, and I definitely can’t talk about it. I just sound like a idiot!”

“Oh,” Lucas sounded so surprised that Jens lifted his head. His mouth was open in a shocked ‘O’ and his eyes registered understanding. Lucas swallowed, a small smile returning to his lips--lips that Jens couldn’t help staring at, again--and said, “You’re going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to have to do this,” he said with resolve.

“What?” Jens asked, so confused.

“You’re going to make me be the one to make the first move because you’re emotionally constipated. Gah! Robbe was right!”

“I--. What?” 

But he was cut off by Lucas’s fingers wrapping around his neck and pulling him across the six inches that had separated them. Jens was so shocked, he couldn’t even react when their lips met. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, just long enough to get the point across. He did, however, notice that Lucas’s lips were soft and slightly chapped. 

Lucas pulled back, eyes wide with a mixture of fear, shyness, and hope. They bore into Jens’s, daring him to say something, but all Jens saw were the lights of the city reflected in his eyes, like stars. His thoughts and limbs were frozen, his brain malfunctioning in a circuit overload.

It took him much longer than he’d like to admit to recover, and he almost feared Lucas had given up on him; but then suddenly his mind worked again, and the first thing he did was reach for Lucas. His hands cupped the sides of his face, and he crashed their lips together. 

Jens moved a little hesitantly at first, shifting position and focusing on the soft, plumpness of Lucas’s lips. Their mouths slid smoothly together, lips pressing and retreating, noses bumping as they moved. When Lucas’s tongue swept across his lower lip, Jens opened his mouth and poked his tongue out to meet it. They explored one another gently, taking their time, tongues dancing and mouths shifting to try new angles.

Jens’s head swam, and his frantically beating heart seemed to fill his chest with a warm glow. He could feel every sensation, and it almost overwhelmed him. Lucas tasted of something tangy, perhaps citrus, and he smelled heavenly, a mixture of the wind, the grass, paper, and his own unique scent. His lips were enthusiastic if inexperienced, and Jens fed off of that energy, letting it lend him the confidence he lacked as well.

As they separated, Lucas leaned his head on Jens’s shoulder and breathed, “I can’t believe I did that, that you made me do that.” He stopped. Then added, “I did that,” an incredulous, rather proud sounding chuckle escaping. 

Jens let his head fall forward, a loud exhale escaping. “Sorry?” he hesitated.

“Pfft.”

“Really. Sorry. I know. I suck.” Lucas laughed silently, his chuckles shaking Jens’s shoulder. Jens lifted his head and leaned his cheek against Lucas’s soft curls. “But, thank you.”

“Thank you?” He asked, sitting up, a bewildered expression on his face.

“For kissing me. If you’d left it to me, we would have been stuck in flirty banter forever. I mean, I literally said gargoyle yesterday to Robbe and Sander because I couldn’t say you. It wasn’t in me. I had to make a joke instead.” 

Lucas rolled his eyes and placed his hand on Jens’s cheek, caressing his cheekbone with a smooth thumb. His smile, though, was genuinely happy and lit up his face. “You are an emotional dishrag. Such a disaster!” He emphasized it with a quick kiss. “And honestly, how is that even possible? All of this is your fault. You started it. I didn’t even know you a week ago.”

Jens shivered at the thought, mentally thanking himself for overreacting to the gargoyle photo, but in true Jens fashion, he said, “I didn’t start it. Robbe did.”

“And how did he know to start it?”

Jens dropped his gaze, a guilty look crossing his features. “He knows me. He knows my type. And I might not have been subtle when I saw your face.”

“So I have Robbe to thank?”

“God, no,” he growled. “Please, no. He’ll never let me live it down.”

“I think that’s a good thing, really. It serves you right.” Lucas dropped his hand from his cheek and interlaced their fingers. He placed his other hand on top and his forefinger traced along Jens’s knuckles. “You’re not fooling anyone. They know you love them, and you know you love them. Revealing your feelings on occasion just reminds them you’re human.”

“Maybe,” Jens said, noncommittally. Lucas pinched the skin on one of his knuckles. “Okay, okay. I’ll work on it.”

Lucas smiled and leaned forward, leaving the briefest of kisses on his lips. “I know you will. You’ll have me to help you.”

“I think I can live with that,” Jens whispered as he pulled Lucas back in for a longer kiss. His free hand found its way into Lucas’s curls, and he played with them while his lips and tongue explored Lucas’s mouth. Without thinking, he pulled away and breathlessly husked, “Come to Antwerp with me.”

Jens froze, his eyes widening in shock, and Lucas stiffened in surprise, his eyes seeking out Jens’s for confirmation. They stared at each other, a dawning realization coming over them.

Though he hadn’t really thought it out, Jens did want Lucas to come to Antwerp. And stay in Antwerp. Whatever was happening with them, it was serious, and it was happening seriously fast. A momentary fear crossed his thoughts, and he felt panic well up inside of him. It was definitely happening too fast, and he felt himself choking a little on the jumble of emotions and feelings swirling around inside of him. But, as he refocused his gaze on Lucas, he saw the kindness and trust in his eyes, and he was able to breathe again. It would be okay because it was Lucas. Lucas would be there.

Having likely seen the panic come and go in Jens’s eyes, Lucas asked hesitantly, “Are you sure?”

Firmly and without doubt, Jens replied, “Yes. Come home with me...please.”

Lucas’s responding smile lit up the night. His eyes glowed bright with joy. He smiled so broadly that his white teeth shone, reflecting the moonlight. His cheeks and chin dimpled and creased, changing the angles of his face slightly, giving him an almost ethereal beauty. Jens couldn’t control himself and blurted out, “You’re so beautiful!”

Lucas puffed out a laugh, curling a little in on himself, perhaps, thought Jens, a little self-conscious. “Trying to convince me with flattery?”

“Erm, no,” Jens said, suddenly dropping his gaze and shifting uncomfortably, “I momentarily lost my filter. I said what I was thinking. You are...um…beautiful.”

Still looking self-conscious, a small smile pulled at Lucas’s lips, and he countered, “You’re not half bad yourself.” His eyes lifted to Jens, and he winked cheekily. “Actually, you’re gorgeous. I about died when Robbe showed me your picture.”

“So you understand my pain?”

“Puh-lease. Unlike you, I was able to control myself.”

“Yeah, and if I’d done that, where would we be?”

“True. Very true.” Lucas raised his eyebrows playfully and asked, “So, was it really just the photo for you? You know, you just took one look at me and…”

Jens coughed. How did he answer that? Lucas had said it jokingly, but it felt serious, almost like an accusation. But that didn’t make sense either. Maybe Jens was misinterpreting, or even projecting his own fears onto Lucas. For whatever reason, the question left him a little panicked, and a mass of tangled thoughts swirled around his mind. What was the most honest answer? 

His eyes slid away from Lucas for a moment, settling on François while he contemplated what to say. After a few moments, he said, “No. Of course, it was the photo at first, but then you answered the door adorably rumpled and grumpy in your pajamas, and I knew I was in trouble. Here I was feeling and looking like death, and I couldn’t help noticing how stunning you were in contrast.”

He cleared his throat and then continued, “But I was sure after the battle. We’d spent all day together laughing and talking, and then you turn out to be a total badass.” He paused to give Lucas an appreciative grin. “And,” he continued thoughtfully, “It was just Robbe and I for the longest time, and then Sander kind of wheedled his way in. Now he’s family. Then you show up, and it just makes sense. You fit right in with us. Without even trying. Our quirks, our humor, our interests. You belong with us.” He hesitated and added, “With me.”

Lucas beamed, eyes bright, dimples exploding on his cheeks. He practically glowed at Jens’s last words. “For me, it was when you collapsed in bed with Robbe and Sander.” Jens gave him a perplexed look, and Lucas laughed, “I know it seems strange that I knew I liked you when you were technically sleeping with two other guys.”

Jens burst out laughing, managing to puff out, “I was so tired.”

“Yes, I know. Actually sleeping,” Lucas agreed. “But really, it was what that meant, what it told me about you. You rushed here in the middle of the night to be there for Robbe, and you’re confident enough in who you are and in their relationship and your place within that relationship to just pass out in a pile with them. You both needed to be with Robbe, and you were willing to share him. It was sweet. Confidence is sexy, and so is kindness. You are clearly a great friend and would…” he trailed off mid-sentence.

“Would what?” Jens prodded, secretly hoping he was going to finish that sentence with “boyfriend."

“Nothing,” Lucas responded, shying away a little. 

“Nothing, hmm,” he said and then darted his right hand out to tickle Lucas’s side. Lucas gasped in shock, and then a giggle escaped his mouth, then another. His gripped Jens’s hoodie and reached for his side, but Jens was too fast. He caught Lucas’s hand and pressed it against his thigh while attacking him again with his other hand. Lucas squirmed, a high-pitched squeal escaping this time.

“Stop. Stop,” he squawked, “Are you trying to kill us? We’re going to fall off of the roof!”

Jens stopped and lifted an eyebrow, asking, “Are you that ticklish?” Lucas glared at him, and Jens crowed, “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with this.”

“Don’t even think about it! Remember,” he warned, “I can stab you in your sleep.”

“Nah,” Jens responded, unconcerned, laughter filling his eyes, “You wouldn’t want to ruin this pretty face.” Lucas glared at him again but said nothing. Jens gave him a smug look, and they remained silent for a few moments, catching their breath.

While Jens enjoyed the return of their playfulness, his nerves were on edge. Their conversation had completely derailed, and he still didn’t have an answer. More seriously, he reached for Lucas’s hand again and asked, “So? Will you come to Antwerp?”

Lucas’s eyes shrouded over briefly, clearly thinking about what to say, which made Jens want to crawl out of his skin. If Lucas had to think this hard about it, the answer probably wasn’t yes.

Lucas set his shoulders and inhaled deeply, seemingly trying to prepare himself, and Jens’s nerves increased. Finally, he said, peering straight into Jens’s eyes, “What would I be coming as? A friend? Your b--boyfriend? A Shadowhunter on his travel year?”

“What?” Jens burst out. “My boyfriend of course.” Lucas’s posture relaxed immediately. “Oh, Lucas,” he said softly, pulling their clasped hands to his lips, “Of course, I want you to be my boyfriend. Of course.” He kissed Lucas’s knuckles.

While he had relaxed some, Lucas still seemed tense, clearly worried about something else. He leaned forward so that his lips brushed Jens’s knuckles and said, “If we do this, you realize I am going to expect you to act like my boyfriend in front of them, like you’re going to have to be mushy on occasion and act like you like me.”

“Well, I do like you,” he said confused.

Lucas lifted his hands and face up in supplication, like he was asking for help, his smile belying the gesture a little, and said, “Yes, I know that, but you’re going to have to _act_ like it. Not just when we’re alone.”

“Oh yeah, that, right. Good point. I’m not good at that.”

“Nope.”

“Hey!”

He looked very serious now, eyes pleading with Jens to understand. “It’s just that...it’s a long way to go for me, a leap of faith really. It’s a huge step. My friends at home don’t even know I’m gay, and here I am thinking of maybe even moving to Antwerp after knowing you for a few days. It’s crazy. I need to know you’ll be there for me. I can’t constantly be questioning whether you actually like me or not. With Robbe and Sander, you can be whatever, but I know I’m going to need you to be openly affectionate with me. I know that about myself. Now,” he paused nervously, “I’m not asking you to change who you are for me. I just...I just need to know you’re sure, that you’re as...erm...committed to trying this as I am. This is all too new for me to be able to handle the hot and cold treatment.”

He looked so nervous it almost broke Jens’s heart, and Jens immediately wrapped him in his arms and held him close, whispering, “I’m so sorry,” over and over in his ear. 

They rocked side to side a little, and as Jens hugged him tighter, Lucas asked, “Why are you sorry? I don’t understand. This is my insecurity we’re talking about, and I want to be honest with you about it upfront.”

Jens kissed his hair and then nuzzled his nose into his neck. “I’m sorry that my inability to communicate in a healthy way--and the last thirty minutes clearly don’t count because you forced me to talk about all this, and I’ve been super uncomfortable the whole time, but also thank you for that as well--Anyway, I’m sorry that it has made me seem unsure or caused you to think I might treat you differently in front of others. And that,” he said, continuing even though Lucas tried to interrupt, “Is my fault. I do struggle with that. You are right, and I promise that I will work on it. If I ever make you feel like I don’t care, tell me right away because I’m sure I won’t be doing it on purpose. Can you promise me that?”

Lucas nodded, his chin hitting the bony point on Jens’s shoulder. “I’ll call you out when you’re being an ass.”

Shaking his head side to side, nose rubbing against Lucas’s collarbone, he huffed out a laughing, “That’s not exactly what I meant, but it’s probably a good idea. So I agree. And just so you know, I am.”

Lucas chuckled at his first statement and then pulled back at his last words, eyes confused. “You are what?”

Jens kissed him lightly on the lips. “Committed.”

“Oh,” he said surprised. “Good.” Their lips fell into one another, and they kissed and talked well into the night, enjoying the newness and imagining the future. 

And while he was shocked by the sudden ferocity of his feelings, Jens was blind to the irony that he’d fallen into the same trap he’d warned Sander about so many months ago. Shadowhunters really do form irrationally quick attachments, but for some reason, they just seem to work out.

The next day Robbe received three texts from Jens, all photos. The first one was a screenshot of a timer with the caption “I win!” The second was a picture of Jens and Lucas on the roof in front of a gargoyle. Lucas is smiling at the camera, hair blowing wildly in the wind, and Jens is kissing him on the cheek with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other holding the camera. The last text was a photo of two train tickets from Paris to Antwerp for the following evening. No text accompanied either picture.

Robbe’s only response: “Thank the Angel!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for going on this journey with me. I love this version of Sobbe. They make me so happy, and I had a lot of fun writing about them. Since I chose not to write a standalone VDS in this AU, I decided to have Lucas show up in Paris. I hope I made it believable enough because I just adore this Jens. He's so grumpy, and I love the idea of Lucas forcing him to open up a bit. (An unrelated VDS one shot is linked below in this series.)
> 
> This chapter is the longest thing I've ever written. It's almost as long as all the other chapters combined. I about keeled over when I finished it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. 
> 
> I have no current plans to continue the wtfock/shadowhunter AUs; however, if I do, it'll be a different story, and I'll add it to the series. Thank you again!
> 
> Tumblr:  
> @if-music-be-the-food-of-love


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